


Of Chilled Skin and Warm Breath

by Freya_Ishtar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Ancient magic, Canon Divergent, Curses, Eventual Smut, F/M, Humor, M/M, Multi, Romance, forgotten histories, scenes of ptsd, triad/threesome fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:42:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23606992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freya_Ishtar/pseuds/Freya_Ishtar
Summary: Invited to observe the Quileute wolves in her search for a cure to the Wizarding world's lycanthropy curse, Hermione uncovers an ancient secret. As she tries to understand this forgotten magic, she's drawn to both Jacob and Jasper. Despite that they'd kill each other if left alone too long, around her they grudgingly realize a strange peace in one another's company. *triad fic*
Relationships: Alice Cullen/Jasper Hale (friendship), Carlisle Cullen/Esme Cullen, Edward Cullen/Bella Swan, Emmett Cullen/Rosalie Hale, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley (referenced), Hermione Granger/Jasper Hale, Jacob Black/Hermione Granger, Jacob Black/Hermione Granger/Jasper Hale, Jacob Black/Jasper Hale
Comments: 100
Kudos: 338





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oy, where to begin. *facepalm* The notes are lengthy, but please take the 1 ½ minutes to read them before starting the fic.
> 
> TWILIGHT TWEAKS:
> 
> (1) There's no super-vampire-baby (sorry Renesmee fans).
> 
> (2) They found a loophole in the Treaty, permitting it to remain intact while still granting Bella's wish to become a vampire (to be explained in-story).
> 
> (3) Edward didn't cave to Bella's pleas because he was too horrified by the bruising from their first night & valued her life more than he needed to abate his physical desires. In exchange, she took back her offer to attend Dartmouth, instead returning to Forks & after making a show of leaving for college (& a quick trip to visit Renee one 'final' time), she stayed in the Cullens' house under tight watch following her being turned.
> 
> HP TWEAKS:
> 
> (1) Hermione's encounter with Fenrir Greyback when The Snatchers took the Trio to Malfoy Manor is more significant & prolonged than in canon. WARNING: There are depictions & mentions of PTSD connected to this 'tweak.'
> 
> (2) There will be no draws from JKR's US-based canon (I generally ignore it unless it serves a specific purpose in a fic).
> 
> AUTHOR'S NOTES:
> 
> 1) I apologize to Twilight fans, as I'm not one. KEEP READING. I read the books, watched the films (even have the eBook collection with the Bree Tanner short), & despite not loving it, this plunny still bit (& proceeded to hound me for years [my notes show 18th of February, 2015]). My feelings toward the source material won't affect how I tell the story. I always bring my best efforts to anything I write.
> 
> 2) I never character-bash, but a character's own canon flaws may show up if/when scene-appropriate.
> 
> 3) About Jacob. His own creator didn't treat him well & I realized why. He wasn't created as a character in his own right, he was created as a complication for the couple who were always the HEA. He'll have a bit of a personality overhaul in this fic.
> 
> 4) Jasper & Alice ... We're never given evidence they're romantic. We get Bella's perspective, which is based in others' views/comments, and yes, they do love each other, but that could easily not be romantic; Edward wouldn't have divulged that because it wasn't his place, and Jasper & Alice wouldn't have minded the misconception, because they're emotional beings whose needs were satisfied by their dynamic (hence why they also agreed to it when Carlisle suggested they marry [largely, Meyer's explanations for the things about their relationship that don't make sense feel like afterthoughts to cover up that not much consideration was given during the writing & any openly romantic affection was filled in by the film writers]).
> 
> Story takes place in 2008
> 
> Twilight character descriptions taken from book canon (though my personal visual for Jacob is definitely Martin Sensmeier, Native activist, model, and actor who is ... ugh, so ruggedly pretty).
> 
> Cultural Note: Many Native/Indigenous cultures view hair as an extension of one's spirit. I don't imagine creatures who are more in tune with their spirit severing this natural conduit for the sake of convenience/comfort. Therefore, the werewolves in my take on Meyer's world have long hair.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter or Twilight, and make no profit—in any form—from this work.
> 
> LAST BUT NEVER LEAST A shoutout to MaryRoyale, the Faith to my Buffy, who sees my terrible ideas and whispers, "Yeah, it's evil ... but do it, anyway!" Without her encouragement, this fic would still be a plunny collecting virtual dust. She will be starting a Jasper/Millicent crossover soon. I'll announce when she posts.

**Chapter One**

Hermione's forehead connecting with the desktop was the thing that jarred her fully awake. Snapping back up in her seat, she gave herself a shake and reshuffled the parchment scrolls unfurled in her hands. She hadn't even realized she had dozed off until she'd tipped forward in her chair, only to be rewarded with the sound thudding of her skull against the polished wood surface.

Groaning, she touched her fingers to the impact site in ginger exploration. "C'mon, Hermione. The answer has to be here, somewhere. You'll find _something_ , you've just got to keep looking."

Her voice sounded confident, she reflected, which was not at all how she felt. She knew perfectly well that she wasn't the first person to try to find a cure for the lycanthropy curse, but she desperately wanted to be the last. Everyone she'd reached out to, however, had held up their hands—metaphorically speaking, of course—and told her there was no help they could offer.

This was exactly the sort of thing for which she could put her title of 'war hero,' and all the weight that came with it, to use without it feeling like an abuse of power. Simply figured that the doors it opened for her would have absolutely _squat_ behind them.

She'd come away from the Second Wizarding War intent on this. In the rubble, as the dust settled, she had found Lavender Brown. The image of Fenrir Greyback tearing into the blonde witch's throat was _still_ fresh in her mind, as though it had happened hours ago, not years.

Her heart dropped into her stomach unexpectedly at that observation. _Years_.

Had it really been so much time?

The air around her felt very still suddenly and she fought to focus. Along her spine crawled the sensation of someone close at her back, in her throat a bubble of panic swelled. A shiver of revulsion shook her back to reality at the remembered feel of his unforgiving fingers clamping around her wrist as he'd dragged her away from the others that day they were taken to Malfoy Manor.

It had all rushed back to her not as she watched Greyback nearly decapitate Lavender with not more but his teeth, no. It had been when she'd sat on the floor next to the other witch's prone form, gripping Lavender's hand in her own—they'd never been anything close to friends, yet it didn't feel strange to be at her side in that moment. Lavender's eyes had been full of tears, her jaw working as if to speak, though no words escaped her lips.

It had been then, as Lavender's eyelids closed in one last blink, opening again before she stilled. It had been in the way her fingers had gone limp in Hermione's grasp. In the way her chest never rose to take another breath.

Hermione had frozen where she sat, mired in the terrible sense that Lavender's murderer—Hermione's tormentor—was just behind her. That he was sitting, curved against her back, and smirking over her shoulder at the image of his kill.

Harry and Ron never knew. They'd not seen Greyback pull her aside on the journey to Malfoy Manor. They'd not witnessed the way his clawed fingers had squeezed her throat, nor heard the vile words he'd whispered in her ear, all the twisted things he swore he'd do to her murmured as though he spoke sweet nothings. They didn't know what it was like to feel the life start to slip from you only to have it rush back at some mad creature's mercy.

She still had the scars from the points of his claws along the back of her neck.

The wicked delight in those golden-amber eyes as he'd permitted her to draw a gasping breath was something she'd never forgotten. The memory of them battered at her brain as she'd clung to Lavender's lifeless hand.

They hadn't known the terror that had welled in her gut when Bellatrix Lestrange had said Greyback could have her, nor that it revisited her as they tried to pull her away from the other witch's body.

Somehow, it was made all the more horrifying that Remus Lupin had died while Greyback had survived. Remus Lupin, the only werewolf known to be good, the exception to the rule of what the lycanthropy curse brought about in its victims.

As she was dragged away so the bodies of the fallen could be tended, she realized a new purpose for herself. And it was _this_.

But this . . . . While it had become increasingly difficult for her to track the passing of years after the strange twist her own fate had taken, the sudden realization of how much time had ticked by while she searched fruitlessly suddenly pressed down on her. Ten years since that horrible day she'd watched so many people die. Since she'd held Lavender Brown's fingers as the last little spark of life drained from the other witch's eyes.

Ten years and not a week passed when she wasn't visited by at least one nightmare of golden eyes watching her menacingly as she lost the ability to breathe. As she felt the scrape of claws along the top of her spine. Nightmares that ended as he let the air back into her lungs. She always woke sitting bolt upright, gasping, only barely stopped from screaming by the awareness that her attacker had been left behind the moment she'd opened her eyes.

A decade had slipped by and she was no closer to an answer then she'd been before the head Medi-witch at St. Mungo's had delivered the startling news. Speaking of . . . .

Hermione checked the time. It was already so very late and she had a medical exam tomorrow morning. Sighing, she made her decision and went off to bed.

* * *

"So," Harry started as he met her on the steps of St. Mungo's the following day. Her best friend's grin was so bright it rivaled the pool of sunlight in which he stood, "how did it go today? Same result as usual?"

With an expression that was half wincing, half smiling, yet somehow not quite either, Hermione threw back her head to look up at the sky. She hooked her arm through his as they walked along. "Well, Madame Ophie said that from the look of things, I can probably celebrate my 19th birthday this year!"

He chuckled, patting her hand around his elbow. "You're unbelievable. 'Oh, no! I'm stuck being young for a few extra decades.' Tragic fate, that."

The witch frowned, shaking her head as a rueful look shaded her features. In the medical exams performed on all survivors following War's End, it was discovered that Hermione Granger had managed to make herself a bit of an anomaly.

She hadn't aged since the Battle of the Department of Mysteries.

She'd been made aware time magic was unpredictable when Professor McGonagall had entrusted her with a Time Turner during third year. What she hadn't been aware of—what no one had been prepared for—was energy from prolonged exposure to a time artifact being absorbed into her system. Energy later activated due to close proximity when the explosions during the Battle of the DoM triggered all the Time Turners at once, knocking them into infinite loops and leaving Hermione . . . not paused, precisely. _Slowed_ was a more fitting way to state it.

All things considered, it could've been worse, she was told—she could've been aged backward into infancy or forward by several decades. In comparison to those fates, being 'chronologically challenged' was a small price to pay for meddling with time.

Harry believed she was too serious about the matter, and of course, the elder witches who tended her medical care were of the mind that she should be grateful. It was theorized that her unique trait had been the thing which had saved her from Antonin Dolohov's otherwise lethal attack spell, that it had slowed the effects of the damage on her body enough that her death, an event that should've been imminent, was delayed, permitting Madam Pomfrey the time necessary to save her life. Hermione couldn't argue with that. She did, however, think aging an approximate year per decade—an educated guess from Madame Ophie, Madame Pomfrey, and Professor McGonagall putting their heads together—was bound to get rather tedious at some point.

Last night, when she'd realized she'd been obsessing over a singular pursuit with no results for ten years, had been that point.

They ended up, as they often did on Saturdays, taking an early lunch at the Leaky Cauldron. The atmosphere was comfortable and familiar, and no matter what her week had been like, the childhood memories that lurked here soothed her.

When their plates were set before them in their usual booth, Harry cleared his throat, entirely too focused on his meal. He knew Hermione would get suspicious in a moment, so he simply dove right in.

"How, um, how's your research going?"

Her shoulders drooped and she suddenly didn't feel much like eating. Swallowing her current mouthful, she stabbed half-heartedly at a bit of asparagus. "Um, I've decided to give up, actually."

Harry's heart wrenched. This had been the thing she'd been set on for so long, he was sure if anyone could solve this particular puzzle, it would be her. Maybe the surprise he had wouldn't go over so well, after all. "Why?"

"Harry . . ." she said his name in a whisper as she shook her head. "There was nothing to find. I'm exhausted just thinking about it. I wish I had a different answer, but . . . ."

He watched her give a hopeless shrug. Watched her push around the butter-drenched vegetables on her plate with her fork.

"And you're sure you're done with it, then?"

"Absolutely done." Something in his tone drew her attention and she looked up from her massacred greens. "Why?"

"Well, I thought there might be some stones you left unturned, so I reached out to a dozen or so Indigenous Tribal Councils in the States on your behalf."

Her brown eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I thought Indigenous peoples didn't generally associate with the Wizarding community." It was no small secret that the Wizarding World wasn't the only manifestation of magic in the world, but the Wizarding community's tendency to behave as though they were 'the only ones' did tend to be a sore spot with other communities versed in magical ways. She'd not considered reaching out to them because she'd thought none of them would give her the time of day.

It also had not occurred to her because she didn't consider the natural shapeshifters of other cultures the same as those afflicted by the lycanthropy curse.

"Oh, actually that's mostly the _American_ wizards and witches they're not too fond of."

"Um, okay." She shook her head, refocusing. "Why didn't you tell me this sooner? It is _my_ name you're using."

Harry held up his hands in a placating gesture. "I didn't want to get your hopes up if I turned up nothing, and I didn't want to create confusion by using my name to handle something that was for you."

"Then should I assume you're telling me now because there was something?" Hermione fought hard to keep herself from feeling any sort of elation.

He lowered his hands and reached for his drink, taking a quick sip before answering. "Well, it seemed like that was a dead end too, at first—turns out some tribes' particular shapeshifter legends are so terrifying they won't even speak the names of the creatures, and after doing a little research of my own into that, I understand why—and I was ready to give up, too."

She waited, her brows high.

Harry reached into his back pocket and extracted a parchment envelope. He held it out, waiting for her to take it. "It's not exactly what you want, but it could be a start."

Accepting the envelope, Hermione had to remind herself to breathe before she opened it. Pushing aside her barely-touched plate, she slid the response to Harry's query from its sleeve and unfolded it on the table before her.

_"Miss Hermione Granger,_

_"Our wolves and your wolves are not the same, but we acknowledge a connection and that your people's moon curse is a terrible magic which must be undone, if such a thing is possible. Our tribal council has reached a decision. While we have no answers for you, we believe time spent among our wolves might set you on a path toward finding some. Your people are no strangers to secret keeping, should you accept our invitation we ask that you extend us the same courtesy in whatever you learn here, and that you do not come unless you can offer our ways and our protectors your utmost respect._

_Billy Black, Quileute Tribal Elder."_

Holding her breath, she read it through a second time. Following the somewhat messy scrawl was contact information. Exhaling, she said in a whisper, "It _could_ be a start. It . . . could be more than I've had to go on all this time."

"So?" Harry asked, smiling, "What're you going to do?"

Chewing at her lower lip as she thought it over—as she accepted that there was nothing to consider, no options to weigh, no answer to give but one—she mirrored his bright expression. She looked at the return address. "I suppose I'm going to Washington!"

* * *

Jasper looked up from the book open in his hands to see her lingering in the doorway of his study. He nearly smiled—Alice always made him feel at ease, simply by being close—yet, the mirthful expression faded faster than it'd begun to form as the emotion in the air around her drifted toward him.

Anxiety, he could feel the ripple of it in the pit of his gut as if it were his own.

He closed the book and set it aside, responding automatically by trying to settle her nerves. "What's wrong?"

Stepping into the room, her stride light and graceful as always, she shook her head. "Please let me keep what I'm feeling."

With a frown, he stood and rounded his desk to stand before her. He dropped the attempt to ease her jagged emotions and simply searched her face with his gaze. "Alice, what is it?"

"It's nothing that's wrong, exactly," she said, a watery smile playing on her lips. "But, I've seen that it's _time_."

"Time?" he echoed, instantly wary. He remembered suddenly—how foolish that he'd forgotten—that long-ago conversation they'd had after she'd first found him. There was the chat everyone knew . . . and then the one that they'd kept to themselves, the one they'd buried so deep even Edward couldn't dig it out of their minds.

_"We'll be each other's happiness," she whispered, her eyes fixed off in the distance, as though seeing something he couldn't—a notion he already knew to be true. "For a while. The nearest and dearest of companions, likely what some might consider soulmates."_

_He only frowned. The voice of the girl who'd brought him out of the dark with a touch of her hand sounded whimsical, yet the tone was shadowed; it carried something deep and weighty he didn't dare think on._

_"But it's only while we heal." Those eyes dimmed but remained far off. "That will take time, we'll even be happy. Someday, though, I'll see a new path for each of us, and then . . . it will just be time to go find our happiness apart."_

His usually serene features pinched. "What if I don't want it to be time? What if I want things to remain the same?"

A corner of her mouth plucked upward and she reached one arm toward him. Jasper wasn't a person who fretted often, and she didn't like how it sounded from him.

Sighing, he reached back, twining his fingers with hers.

Alice dropped her gaze to their connected hands and then returned her attention to his face. "You would keep me here just so things don't have to change?"

The question bothered him, tore at him. No, of course he would never force her to do anything simply for his sake. If she felt it was time they parted? Yes, he would let her go. He knew they'd been together, healing each other, nurturing each other, for decades.

But now that it was at an end, it felt like forever and yet like barely a day had passed, all at once. The awareness set off a hollow sensation in the pit of his stomach.

"No. I want happiness for you, too," he answered, his voice low. Jasper had always known this day would come, so he supposed in a way he was braced for it. "Besides, it's not forever."

"No, it's not." She closed the distance, standing on her toes to drop a kiss on his cheek. "We'll be part of each other's lives again, when we've both found our happiness."

"I don't . . . I don't believe I can explain it to the others. They're not going to be glad to see you go. I don't think they'll understand."

"Carlisle and Esme will, I've seen it," she said, her voice full of confidence on that point. "Edward is just listening now, so he knows my feelings. I think he's probably surprised we managed to keep this from him. Emmett has always wanted whatever is best for all of us. It's Rose and Bella who'll take my absence hardest."

He smiled, the expression tight, mirthless. "No, it's not."

Alice clung tightly to his hand and lowered her heels back to the ground, her gaze never leaving his. "I love you, Jasper."

That smile became a touch more genuine. "I love you, too, Alice."

"I'll deal with the explanations," she informed him, taking some of the burden she knew he must be feeling off his shoulders. She couldn't let him blame himself for this, not when she was the one making the decision for them both.

Their fingers still twined, Alice pivoted on her heel and started from the room, tugging Jasper to follow.

* * *

Jacob pulled himself from beneath his car—yeah, he should probably restore something roomier now, but he still loved it, still did his best to upkeep it, despite that his bike and running were both faster and freer—and sniffed at the air. Even with _his_ nose, it was a little hard to tell in here with the overpowering smells of grease, oil, old rubber, and the myriad other things that came to mind when one thought of antiquated automotive parts and plastics. But something in the air seemed . . . .

Different. And he absolutely refused to think of some stupid cliché about 'the winds of change.'

Snatching up the rag from where he'd dropped it beside him earlier, he climbed to his feet. He wiped his face and hands while he circled the dense line of shrubbery and trees that separated the bolted-together shed he called a garage from the house he shared with his father.

When the little faded red building came into sight, he flinched. Crinkling the bridge of his nose, he looked about. No, it wasn't a smell, not exactly. Weird. Giving his head a shake—just as he would were he in his wolf form right now, an instinctive attempt to clear out his nostrils—he continued up to the front door. Maybe his dad would know what—

"Jake."

The voice came from behind him. Billy Black's scent was all over the area, so it was never a surprise to Jacob that his father—even wheelchair-bound—could sneak up on him here. Of course, that also had to mean Billy had been sitting there waiting for Jacob not to have heard him, either, and that he'd simply hadn't noticed Billy when he'd emerged from the treeline . . . .

Okay, so maybe it _was_ embarrassing that a man in a wheelchair could sneak up on a werewolf. Jacob would blame it on this whatever-it-was in the air this afternoon.

As Jacob turned to face him, Billy spoke again, cutting off his son's chance to speak. "Gather the wolves, the council needs a word with all of you."

Jacob's brows shot up. "Have we done something wrong?" he asked, his tone wary despite knowing they hadn't done anything— _recently_ —that would get them in trouble. At least not since the last time they'd been lectured.

They were never exactly 'in trouble', not really. The protectors were too honored, too respected for that, but damn could their elders give them one _hell_ of a talking to.

Billy's expression didn't change, though that hardly helped as there was no reading his face just now. It wasn't happy, or angry, or sad . . . no, it was that it was blank and his dark eyes were guarded that concerned his son.

"No," Billy said after a heartbeat. "We just need to speak with all of you about a serious matter. We're expecting a guest."

There was something in his father's voice then, something secretive underlying that last word.

Jacob nodded, trying to keep his own features schooled. "Sure, sure. I'll get them."

More than just that secretive something, the way Billy watched him as he turned and started away unnerved the werewolf. Shaking his head again, Jacob frowned.

Who could this guest possibly be to have his father acting so strangely?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) There may be discrepancies between portrayals of the Quileute in fanfiction (mine, included) and the actual history/culture of the tribe. It's not deliberate carelessness/callousness (most writers aren't aware that while Meyer did 'some' research, there remained a fair amount of unintended misrepresentation, and no disclaimer to that effect was offered in the books [when using another's culture in a fictional work, there SHOULD be a direct disclaimer alongside the standard-requisite]). Stating clearly: the portrayals in this work are based on the fictional representation of the Quileute tribe in the Twilight novels (& includes some information I dug up myself).
> 
> 2) The Quillayute River Resort is a 100% real place, and gorgeous (and if I can ever visit the Olympic Peninsula, it's certainly where I'd stay).
> 
> Also . . . . OMG, thank you SO much for the overwhelming response to this fic's opening chapter. You're all so amazing! And I have passed along to Mary all the thanks she's gotten from you. 😉

**Chapter Two**

"I've been trying to read up on the Quileute people, but there isn't much to be found online—and certainly nothing to be found in reference texts _here_. Although, what I could find was fascinating!" Hermione was yammering excitedly in Harry's ear as they exited through the Designated Safe Apparition door nearest London City Airport—one of the many changes instated by the Ministry, doors that could only be accessed by Wizarding folk, permitting Muggle-borns to travel between their respective 'worlds' more safely and easily. She'd taken a week to make travel arrangements and had been up hours earlier than necessary for her flight, fussing and fretting over potential last-minute items she should or should not bother to pack.

"Did you know their language is one of only five in the world that does not contain nasal sounds?"

Harry crinkled the bridge of his nose, ignoring that the action in response was its own pun. "Nasal sounds?"

"No M or N," she said, her voice breathless with her elation. "And it's totally unique to their people! It's called Quillayute—like the river—and like the tribe, I suppose, phonetically, at least, it's spelled differently, and it's in the family of another tribe's language, Chimakuan. Now, the Chimakuan people were tragically wiped out in the 1860s by a chief named Seattle—"

"Seattle as in the city your flight's going to land in?"

She nodded as they drew to a stop just before the airport doors. "As I understand it, European settlers weren't above naming stolen lands after the people they stole it _from_ , but that's another ire-inducing argument for another day. So, as I was saying, their language is polysynthetic—"

"It's what?"

"A language that uses sentence-words."

His brows drew upward. "Ah." He nodded—she did love her research, and this _was_ fascinating, but if he didn't stop her, she'd talk until it was time to board and then he'd never get to her surprise. "Are you sure you don't want to use the Floo network? It would be loads faster."

Hermione rolled her eyes, cringing at the thought. "That would require transfers through the American network to make it all the way to Olympic Peninsula—I know, I checked. I was raised a Muggle, taking airplanes is nothing new to me. _And_ I managed to get a direct flight, it'll be ten hours—possibly more if there's delays, but it still beats something with multiple stops and layovers."

"Still . . . it could crash."

"Oh!" She spontaneously threw her arms around Harry's neck in one of her trademark suffocating hugs. "You're so sweet to worry, but I'm sure it'll be fine. I'll contact you the minute I land. It's this flight, then a shorter one to a place called Port Angeles, Mr. Black's son will be picking me up from there to bring me to an area called La Push, where the reservation's located, for a sit-down with their Tribal Council. Honestly, by the time that's all done, I'm probably going to sleep for two days."

Chuckling, he hugged her back, knowing full well it was the only way she'd let him breathe. "Speaking of sleep . . . . Where are you planning to stay?"

She pulled back and frowned at him. "Well, I've already done currency exchange, so payment for a booking extension if the time comes won't be an issue, or if I need a change of scenery, there's plenty of inns and resorts around La Push and in the town nearby—Forks, and please no jokes about neighboring villages named for other utensils. I booked a room at a place called—"

"No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did," she responded reflexively. "The inn is called—"

" _No_ ," he insisted. "I cancelled your reservation."

Her face fell at his words and she was overcome with the strangest sense that she'd lost the ability to understand plain English. "I . . . you . . . _what_?"

He ushered her inside, walking with her as far as he was permitted to escort her. Still, she seemed in a daze when he drew her to a halt.

Pursing his lips, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a brochure. He explained as he held it out for her to take. "Oh, 'Mione, I heard you making the arrangements and that place is . . . well, it's the sort of place that's probably great for a weekend stay, but we've no idea how long you'll be there and you'll probably be too busy to worry about finding other places to stay later on if you get sick of the same four walls. You _need_ someplace more comfortable, a place that can genuinely feel like home for a while."

Arching a brow—honestly, they'd spent months making do with a grubby tent that smelled of cat urine and he thought she'd have an issue with a budget hotel room?—she took the brochure from his hand grudgingly. She didn't have long for skepticism, as the pictures immediately visible were _breathtaking_.

"The Quillayute River Resort?" She opened it with delicate fingers, examining image after image of the cabins and landscape. "Oh . . . oh, my God. Harry, what've you done?"

"You know my parents left me more money than I could ever spend in two lifetimes," he answered with an easy shrug. It hadn't been anything to him to help Fred and George when they'd needed money to open their joke shop. "Most of the time it just sits there because I don't know what the bloody hell to do with it. So, I put in the proper currency exchanges, got one of those prepaid debit cards—"

"Harry, I don't think that's—"

"Shh, shush!" He pulled out his wallet and retrieved the bit of plastic in question. "You're on a research mission for the betterment of the Wizarding world, so _technically_ the Ministry should be footing the bill."

"You're not the Ministry, Harry," she reminded in a light tone. Didn't he see this was too much? Even if the amenities were lovely and impressive and certainly ideal for a comfortable temporary home setting. The kitchen alone was lovely, the idea of a separate living room with a fireplace in her _hotel suite_ was not something she'd considered. It even had a furnished porch with a bloody barbecue grill!

She needed to amend her thinking, it wasn't a hotel suite, it was—as the brochure stated—a _cabin_. She was not prepared for this.

"I'm their poster-boy, that's close enough." He forced her to take the debit card and then held up his hands. "Don't fuss, just accept it. No refunds."

Hermione thought she might cry. She knew why he was doing this . . . . Because he couldn't be there with her to make sure she rested, or remembered to stop working long enough to eat a meal. Over the years, she'd had more and more trouble putting aside her research for the sake of managing her very basic existence as a human being. If it weren't for Harry, she'd probably have worked herself sick many times over by now.

And then there was the look on his face. Now she felt like she might cry for a wholly different reason. But they both knew he had to stay behind. "You're the most amazing person in the world, you know that?" she asked, a watery smile on her lips and the tip of her nose stinging as she held herself back from crying.

"Yeah," he said, nodding and clearing his throat—she was not going to make him tear up over this! She'd be back in a few months and it'd be like no time had passed at all, he was sure of it. Just like summer break those first couple of years at Hogwarts. "You should really get going, they're going to start boarding soon, and you've got all sorts of checks to get through."

"Oh, Harry!" Her voice was thick with unshed tears as she once more threw her arms around his neck.

He chuckled warmly, hugging her back one final time. "Go," he whispered, "before I lose the will to let you leave."

She leaned back enough to look at him. "I never thought I'd be taking a trip like this without you."

"Me either." Slipping his hands over her arms, he gently pried them from him. "But you really have to go."

Hermione took a deep breath and nodded, letting her wrists slide from his grasp. "Bye, Harry."

He felt his throat close on the words. Instead, he granted her a smile and a parting wave, aware she would understand his nonverbal farewell.

Then, she turned and walked through the crowd. And she knew her best friend stood there unmoving, watching her grow smaller until she vanished from sight, entirely.

* * *

"I still think this is nonsense."

Jasper wasn't one for eye-rolling, or other expressions of exasperation. Honestly, he didn't have need of them often. But just now, he could feel a little, flickering part of him that was tempted.

Sitting on the porch, staring serenely out at the massive cedars and tall ferns that seemingly guarded the house, he'd been simply quiet since Alice's departure. She'd been right, but then of course she'd been right—she usually was. Carlisle, Esme, Edward, and Emmett had all accepted her decision. Rosalie and Bella? Those two didn't agree on many things, but they both had spent the last week staring daggers at him for 'not stopping her.'

When he didn't move, or turn to acknowledge her—what was the point if she was just going to growl and gripe some more?—Bella stubbornly made her way across the porch and took a seat beside him. He was starting to notice very little mattered to her beyond the things _she_ thought of as 'right.' She'd known and accepted for the past three years that he and Alice were soulmates, and so, of course, she couldn't make sense of the truth about their relationship.

How was it that she had such spectacular self-control about her thirst and her hunting habits, but had no compunction about letting her perceptions get the better of her?

"You're really not going to say anything?" she asked, not masking her surprise that he wasn't bothering to use his gift to take the saltiness out of her current mood.

"Would there be a point?"

Bella opened her mouth, but quickly shut it again. She wasn't entirely sure what to say to that. She knew he was right, there wasn't any point in answering, because nothing he could say would make her less upset that Alice was gone. But that Alice was gone _hurt,_ and she wanted to argue about it with someone, and who better to do that with than the one person who could've stopped her from going?

Pursing her lips, she held his gaze for a long time. He didn't need an ability to read anything about her to know she was wishing she had her husband's gift so that she might catch a glimpse of what was going on in his head.

She set her jaw, turning her attention to the trees. "You could've made her stay."

He merely looked at her.

Determined, she nodded. "If you'd only asked, she would have stayed for you."

Now it was Jasper's turn to nod. "I know. That's why I couldn't ask her."

Bella snapped her head around to look at him. "I still don't understand that."

"That's because you . . . . No, never mind."

Her brows pinched together. For a moment there, he actually sounded agitated before he collected himself and calmed again. Jasper didn't _get_ agitated.

She recognized that she shouldn't push, and that he could choose to mellow out her irritation at any time. But he hadn't, yet. And she wanted to know what he thought she wouldn't like to hear.

"That's because I _what_?"

Tranquil as he met her gaze, he said, "You want your loved ones to be happy, you do, it's obvious, but . . . you only want them to be happy in a way that supports _your_ happiness."

Her mouth fell open. "Wha . . . ? I . . . ."

"Making her stay for me wouldn't have been fair to her. It would take away her freedom to go find what _she_ needs right now." He shrugged, still perfectly serene. "And you'd have been okay with my selfishness keeping her here because that's what _you_ want."

He could feel the ripple of her anger at that, at the same time, he could sense a growing sense of annoyance coming from inside the house and drawing closer. Jasper refrained from responding in any way—he knew he shouldn't have said it, but it was already in his head from the first moment Bella had decided she couldn't accept Alice's decision from her own lips. In this house, something being in anyone's head but Bella's or Edward's meant it would've come out eventually, anyway.

He wasn't surprised when the door to the house flew open, even as he was cognizant of Bella turning around to see her husband standing there. He knew Edward's gaze was fixed on the back of his head.

"You just _had_ to say it."

Her eyebrows jumped up so high they appeared in danger of meeting her hairline as she looked from one Cullen brother to the other, and back. "Wait, so you knew that was what he thought and you didn't tell me?"

Edward's gaze hardened, the familiar 'here we go again' scowl settling over his features. He was about to respond—to remind her that what Jasper, or anyone else, thought of her, wasn't any of her business, just like it wasn't _supposed_ to be his business, either—when he shifted his attention to the blond vampire. "Where're you going?"

As typically happened with Edward's ability, he'd asked the question before the person he was asking had even moved. Climbing to his feet, Jasper sighed. This was what he got for _not_ tweaking everyone's emotions. He only looked at Edward and then slipped past him back into the house.

"What was that? Where is he going?" Bella asked immediately.

Edward glanced back toward the door. "The basic answer? His study."

Her eyes narrowed. "And the actual answer?"

"Any place where there isn't about to be an eruption of bickering."

* * *

"For the last time, dude," Jacob said, unable to help a laugh, "I really don't think 'actual witches' ride on brooms."

Young Seth was following at Jake's heels—not that that was anything new—still wildly curious about this English witch who was coming to visit them. He wasn't entirely sure what was going to happen, none of them were. Several things had been made clear about this Hermione Granger they were going to meet. Well, Jacob was supposed to be meeting her, but Seth was insistent on tagging along.

One, much like magic users of any culture, there were good ones and evil ones, and she was one of the good ones. Two, she was working to rid the earth of the moon-cursed werewolves who had made the whole world believe myths about animal-shifters being monsters. Three, she was going to be here until she got some nudge in the right direction on her research, so the more they cooperated, the sooner she'd be out of their hair.

None of them had been pleased with the idea of being 'studied', really, but the elders had stressed to them how terrible the curse was. Twisted magic, his dad had called it. But it wasn't the words any of the elders had used that had made the wolves believe. It was the _way_ they talked about it. The hushed, urgent tones and the darting glances. It was unsettling.

Once upon a time, Jacob would've dismissed their reactions as the superstitions of old men, but . . . . Well, then he changed into a werewolf and found out the Cold Ones of legend really existed, so who was he to question the word of his elders?

"But _maybe_ they do!" Seth went on excitedly as he hurried around Jake to the passenger side door of the car. "I mean, we could ask, right?"

Jacob winced as he fished the keys out of his jeans pocket and unlocked the door, sliding into the familiar, cramped driver's seat. "Sure,sure. _You_ go ahead and ask her," he said while reaching across to open the door for the boy. "I'm positive that'll go over _real_ well. While you're at it, maybe ask if she's wearing makeup and her skin is 'actually' green and warty."

Seth's eyes narrowed as he frowned. "Okay, now you're just being stupid."

Snickering, Jacob turned the ignition. "Well, then I guess that makes two of us."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have been so sweet, thank you so much! For everyone who's been going 'omg, I can't wait for them to see her for the first time'. . . I'd like to caution you to wait. I won't give spoilers, but here's a hint: it's not going to be that easy, but it will play into both imprinting & the whole 'destined mate' idea. Anyone who read my other fic Bewitched by You will probably realize the type of dynamic I'm going for.

**Chapter Three**

The closer she got to the Olympic Peninsula, the more . . . palpable the change in the air felt. Hermione wasn't entirely certain of the cause. Maybe it was simply that she'd never been on a flight this long before and she was sensitive to the cabin pressure. Maybe it was a psychosomatic effect of knowing she was getting closer to finding answers.

Maybe she had finally gone 'round the bend and there was no reason for it at all.

She dreaded the thought—as she transferred flights to a more compact airplane at SeaTac—that Harry had been right after all. Perhaps she _should've_ just come via Floo Network. Not that she would've enjoyed having to file transfer documents with MACUSA, but the actual process of traveling would've been faster. And she still could've arrived in Port Angeles to meet Mr. Black's son, Jacob. There were no Floo Stations anywhere near La Push or neighboring Forks.

Maybe it was the dampness beginning to thread the air the closer she got to the west coast. Maybe it was nervousness. Whatever it was, she found herself shifting about in her seat, offering muttered apologies to the person seated beside her, intermittently staring out the window, as if she had any idea what she should be looking for prior to making their descent.

One might assume she hated flying or heights by mere observation of her behavior—more than one fellow passenger had commented on it, in fact, helpfully offering suggestions to steady her nerves—but it was just this bizarre restlessness that had crept into her. This strange warmth that teased along her skin, never really seeming to settle nor subside.

After deplaning for the second time, she found herself relieved that she didn't have to worry about grabbing luggage from the carousel. Though she'd changed bags by now—from her little beaded one, which was at this point shredded from overuse, to a sturdy little black leather shoulder bag that 'went with everything'—she still, as Harry put it, used the same old trick. She had everything a traveling witch might need: potions ingredients and containers, research materials—for which she'd reverted to 'Muggle convention', including ballpoint pens and fresh, lined notebooks rather than quills and parchment—plenty of changes of wardrobe including nightwear, and, of course, some sheerly recreational items. Harry insisted.

Finally, buried somewhere in there was also the cell phone her parents had given her for emergencies that 'magic couldn't get her out of.' Naturally she'd not told them precisely what she was researching this trip—having a witch daughter who'd survived a magical war and was now stuck with an inability to age properly due to circumstances said witch daughter was not at liberty to explain was enough for them to manage as it was. She didn't think any good could come from a discussion that included alerting them to the fact that werewolves were just as real as witches, and oh, by the way, she was summering with a literal pack of them.

No, she decided she was nervous. That had to be what this feeling was. Nerves. Werewolves . . . . She hadn't stopped to wonder if she could handle being around them.

She halted just inside the glass paned doors, her breath seeming to still in her lungs and her heartbeat an overpowering sensation as it thrummed through her body, reverberating along her limbs and down to the tips of her fingers and soles of her feet.

Logically, she thought any . . . upsetting reactions she might have were connected only and specifically to Fenrir Greyback. She'd had no negative effects to seeing Remus again before his demise.

Besides, Mr. Black had assured her that their wolves were different from 'hers,' she would find out soon enough what, exactly, he'd meant by that. She knew the source of their power was wholly different, a sacred thing, but whether the difference stretched beyond that remained to be seen. And here she was, fussing and panicking about some unknown factor that might not even be an issue.

"God, Hermione, get yourself together!" she snapped in a whisper, oblivious to passersby giving her odd looks and grumbling rudely over how she'd stopped and blocked a door for no good reason—as if there weren't a line of doors perfectly usable on either side of her?

Forcing a few deep, calming breaths, she squared her shoulders. Jacob Black should be waiting for her in a . . . refurbished vehicle, his father had written? She was looking for a rather tall young man, as Mr. Black had quaintly put it, she would 'know him when she saw him.'

Feeling sufficiently collected, Hermione pulled open the door and stepped out.

There, parked only a few yards away, was a car that certainly looked older but updated, and leaning against it . . . . She nearly stumbled as she halted again.

Yes, the young man with the long jet hair tied back from his face by a leather cord and impossibly broad shoulders was indeed 'rather tall.' He leaned against the hood, turned a bit toward both her and the car's interior, his arms folded across his chest. His dark eyes were fixed on something behind the windshield, and his wide mouth curved downward in an impressive frown.

If she didn't know better, she'd swear he was making a face at someone.

Just as she started walking again, he lifted his attention from the depths of the car and met her gaze. Her heart skipped a beat and she felt a wash of warmth through her body.

Unexpectedly, images chased through her mind . . . . Skin dark against hers, holding tight. Fingers sinking into her hair and bunching into a fist. That sweet, shivery ache low in her body . . . .

Only a flash and then it was gone. She swallowed hard and forced a smile, willing her legs to keep moving steadily as she approached the vehicle and its owner.

* * *

Jasper's head snapped up, his gaze fixed on the open window and the dwindling sunlight beyond. He was aware that he had no idea what drew his attention, just as he was aware of Edward's curiosity piquing as the bronze-haired vampire looked up from the page before him to watch his adoptive brother.

Well, there went their quiet evening of simply reading after he'd left Edward to an argument with their newest family member so very early that morning. It wasn't his fault that her husband's link to other people's minds made Bella feel entitled to that same knowledge.

His thoughts were suddenly, unexpectedly tangled. His emotions were suddenly, unexpectedly tangled, and Jasper Hale was _not_ one whose emotions got away from him.

Setting down the book in his hands, he climbed to his feet. The movement was unnerving, even for one of his own kind to observe, as he stalked toward the window like a jungle cat picking up on a curious scent.

Tipping his head, he glanced about as though in search of something. He didn't actually expect to find anything, and what he was supposed to be looking for, anyway? He hadn't the faintest clue. His golden eyes narrowed as he tried to collect himself.

Edward was beside him in a blink, following his brother's darting gaze. "What's going on?" he asked, vaguely disturbed by the unintelligible minor chaos in Jasper's typically calm mind.

Jasper frowned in puzzlement as he settled his brother's agitation out of habit. He shook his head as his thoughts finally cleared, but with no answers as to what was so troubling him.

"I have no idea," he responded with a serenity that he did not actually feel.

* * *

Jacob had been feeling a bit odd the last few moments. A little warmer than usual, and warmth did _not_ bother his kind. Seth would not stop fucking with the radio, and if the kid did not knock it off, he was going to break the damn dial!

Only after he'd properly conveyed his feelings though facial expression, alone, did Seth sit back, holding up his hands to show he wasn't touching anything. Then Jacob'd looked toward the doors and seen her.

Tiny little thing—but then, a lot of people were 'tiny' to him—with a halo of wild golden-brown hair that seemed to have escaped from a long, thick braid pulled over one shoulder. Huge brown eyes tilted up at the corners stared back at him in something like surprise.

For a strained moment, everything faded. The world around her became sort of . . . fuzzy on the edges, sounds dulling in his too-sensitive ears. The sensation of lips brushing his, of fingertips stroking gently from his solar plexus down toward his navel teased him as he watched her exhale. Those imagined touches startled him, though he didn't let it show.

Her fair cheeks spotted pink and then she smiled and walked toward him. The motion pulled him out of his bizarre trance, movement and sound exploding back into reality around her.

"Jacob Black?" she asked, her voice friendly, if uncertain.

"Yeah, hey." He pried himself off the car, appreciating that she paused for half a step to look him over as he stood before her at his full height. "That'd make you Hermione Granger? I'm . . . sorry, am I saying that right? _Hermione_?"

She winced. He had it correct, but he also had it correct to guess how many people mangled her name upon reading it. Perhaps he was familiar with Greek mythology and simply wanted to be sure it was pronounced the same.

"Yes," she answered, maybe a little too enthusiastically. She noticed him looking her over a few times and then looking around her in something like confusion. "Something the matter?"

Oh, oh, _that_ accent was going to get distracting from what she was actually saying, he could see it already. "No, just . . . . Where's your luggage?"

Laughing, she indicated her shoulder bag. "I'll explain in the car. Was there anything else before we're on our way?"

Jacob shook his head, realizing he was keeping them from getting back to La Push. "I just, okay, there's no way this isn't going to sound rude, but I was expecting someone _older_ , I think."

She smiled graciously. Here she was in her late twenties and looking eighteen, and he was eighteen—according to his father—and looking in his late twenties. Oh, the talk this was going to be.

"Another thing to discuss in the car, I think."

He nodded, grinning . . . perhaps a little too brightly, but it felt natural, so whatever, he was going with it. "Sure, sure. Just one second." In a smooth motion, he pivoted from his place beside the hood to put himself at the driver's side door. Lowering his head to the window, he hissed a warning at Seth to transfer himself to the back of the car, so she could sit in passenger seat.

Seth gaped at him wide-eyed. Much to Jacob's very obvious chagrin, the younger wolf had picked up on something in the way he'd looked at the witch. "Did you just im—"

"No!" Jacob went on in a whisper, "It was . . . well, I don't know _what_ it was, but it wasn't that. Just. Get. In. The. _Back_."

Seth knew better than to not cooperate any time one of the older wolves spoke through clenched teeth. Throwing open the door, he scrambled out. He wasn't quite as tall as Jake, and had an easier time unfolding himself from the beloved car's cramped interior.

He beamed at the short, crazy-haired white girl standing near Jacob. "Hi!"

Hermione couldn't help but laugh at the younger man's exuberance. "Hello. I'm . . . ." She glanced at Jacob and back to Seth. "Sorry, you caught me off guard. I was only expecting one person to meet me." She was going to ignore that she really hadn't been paying attention to anything but Jacob Black from the moment she'd set eyes on him.

"I was curious about, well, someone like _you_. Hope that's okay."

She once more glanced at Jacob, who made an 'after you' gesture. Nodding, she rounded the vehicle where the boy promptly stuck out his hand. "Seth Clearwater."

Slipping her fingers into his, she began to respond, but instead a breath rushed out of her. She dropped her gaze to their clasped hands. "My Lord, you're so warm." Again she looked at Jacob, realizing they'd exchanged no such greeting. "Are all of _you_ like this?"

Jacob and Seth nodded in unison.

"Right." She nodded back, concentrating on ignoring how nice it felt. This information didn't bode well for her imagination after those flashes a few moments ago. "Hermione Granger. Lovely to meet you, Seth."

Jacob could see that accent having an effect on Seth, too. Clearing his throat, he took hold of the door, catching his _little brother's_ gaze and jutting his chin toward the backseat.

Starting in place—he really seemed the only one of the werewolves who hadn't had to struggle with his temper getting the better of him after his first transformation—Seth relinquished her hand. He pulled the passenger seat forward and climbed in behind it.

When the seat snapped back into place, Hermione turned and looked up at Jacob. There was a flicker of warm tingles across her cheeks to realize how close they stood.

It appeared to take him a moment to find his voice. "Sorry about him. Like he said, he's just curious. _And_ energetic."

Honestly, he reminded her a bit of Colin Creevey when she, Harry, and Ron had first met him. She immediately turned her thoughts away from the memory. He should never even have been at the Battle of Hogwarts, that he'd had to fight at all, let alone die, was still a travesty for which she'd never forgiven the Fates.

"It's fine. Sweet, really. Shall we?" She settled on the passenger seat, happy to put a little space between herself and Jacob Black so she could think clearly. Regretful to put space between herself and Jacob Black because something in his closeness felt natural.

And warm. And shivery in all the right places. _Oh, dear God, knock it off, Hermione!_

He shut the door and came around to the driver's side. Hermione watched in something like fascination as he gracefully scrunched himself into the car. The spectacle made her realize she had far too much leg room.

"Hang on," she said to absolutely no one as she reached beneath the seat for the lever.

Seth remained silent as she pulled the seat forward to give him more space, but the sigh of relief that filled the back was audible. He unexpectedly stuck his face between the seats, tipping his head against the driver's side headrest as he looked at her.

Now that they were in the shelter of the car, he asked in a low, secretive voice, "Do witches fly on brooms?"

Hermione's gaze flashed to Jacob's face—she was a bit startled to acknowledge that this was already a default reaction and she's only known him all of five minutes—to find him smirking. "Well, _I_ don't, because I personally don't like to, but actually _yes_."

"See! I told you so," he just about shouted in Jacob's ear.

Jacob snickered in spite of himself as he started the car. "Now you've done it. Watch out, he might want to check if you're wearing makeup."

Her brows shot up and her jaw fell. "Huh?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do apologize that the Jasper-centric portions of the chapters are still comparatively short, that will change soon.

**Chapter Four**

From the corner of her eye, Hermione darted her attention toward Jacob in the driver's seat for the briefest second. _Again_. She was overcome with the strangest sense that he kept glancing at her—that perhaps they were constantly just missing catching each other's gazes. The way his russet cheeks grew dark every so often led her to think he was aware of the same thing.

She had just finished explaining to them about her 'luggage trick,' _and_ explaining as well as she could about time magic, along with her chronological affliction. A silence had filled the car for a few breaths as the werewolves digested this probably wild-and-impossible sounding information. Then, just as it seemed her very skin started to itch with a bizarre desire—bizarre because it felt so much like an instinct—to lean over in her seat and rest her head on Jacob's irritatingly broad shoulder, or loop her hand loosely around his elbow so that her palm rested against his skin, Seth shot forward to duck his face right back between the headrests, making them both jump a little.

"So, are you staying with us on the res?"

She was grateful for the distraction of the younger werewolf's question. It felt strange to consider that she and Jacob Black hadn't touched, yet. She knew it shouldn't, they'd only met twenty minutes ago, and they had simply not exchanged a handshake, that was _all._ Interrupted salutations had her turned inside out? _Why?_ That sort of thing happened all the time, so she could not understand why the loss of a simple greeting gesture stood out to her so sharply.

But then, she knew she _did_ understand perfectly well why. Because it was him, and _that_ was the aspect of it that seemed beyond her comprehension.

"No, actually." Shrugging, she glued her attention to the dash, now. She wasn't sure she'd be able to carry on a conversation—especially not one regarding her sleeping arrangements, her considerably lonely sleeping arrangements—with whatever the heck was going on with her and Jacob, otherwise. "Um, I'm staying at a local resort, actually? I feel like I'm already going to be seen as enough of an intruder, I thought expecting to, well, to temporarily live with you, too, would just be _asking_ for you all to wish me gone."

"Not possible."

The words had escaped Jacob's lips in a low tumble of sound. But the car's other two occupants had heard him easily enough.

Hermione couldn't help peeling her attention from the dash to turn her head and look at him. Jake's gaze skittered in her direction, but he didn't actually look at her, his own head still fixed toward the road. Seth's dark eyes were huge as they pinged back and forth between the witch and his brother, like one observing a tennis match.

"I, uh . . . ." Jacob shrugged, pretending he didn't feel the furious warmth in his cheeks. "I just meant you seem very polite and respectful and that's going to go a long way with the elders and the rest of the pack."

An uncertain half-smile curving her lips, she turned to look at the road. She pretended she didn't hear Seth whisper, "Nice save," nor Jacob's hushed, hurried reply of, "Shut up, dude."

Seth was too amused by the interaction—it was so obvious the older wolf was into this girl, their brothers, and even Leah, were going to have a field day with this—to feel intimidated by the growl running beneath the Jake's voice. "Where are you staying?"

Thoughtful, she shifted in her seat. Pulling the folded up brochure from her back pocket, she handed it over to Seth. "The Quillayute River Resort?"

Both werewolves let out a low whistling sound.

"Don't start," she said with a laugh. "I was content to stay in some little place, but Harry insisted. _Especially_ since he's not here to keep an eye on me."

She didn't catch the way Jacob's knuckles suddenly blanched, draining of blood as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. But Seth did.

"Who's Harry?" he asked, as much for Jacob's benefit as for his own curiosity. "Your boyfriend?"

Again, she laughed, shaking her head. Seth watched the tension flood out of Jake's hands instantly. He wondered if Jake even realized he'd reacted like that to the simple thought that she was taken.

"No. He's my _best_ friend, though. We've been through a lot together and I suppose it's become second nature for us to look out for each other. Though, I'd say the last few years, it's been more him looking out for me than the other way 'round." She shrugged. "I don't . . . . I don't really date, anyway."

"Why not?" The boy once more sounded genuinely curious, as though asking on behalf of his packmate was secondary to his sincere wondering.

"That's . . . I'm . . . ." The witch shook her head, biting her lip. She found it _really_ hard to tell that earnest, eager face to stick his nose anywhere but in her private business. Yet there was a strange, immediate protectiveness there, she noticed, as if he were her own little brother, somehow. "It just never really worked. Nothing ever seemed to feel right. Maybe it's my condition, maybe it's just me, but I simply gave up on the idea. Focused on my work. I'm too odd, perhaps. Just being around me unsettles some people once they know. Something about the way I am now, about being sort of . . . ."

"Ageless," Jacob offered in a distracted tone, his gaze on the road.

She turned her head, studying his profile in the soft, vaguely greenish evening light. "Yeah."

He nodded, deliberately forcing himself not to meet her eyes—to continue focusing on his driving. He wanted to look at her, yet at the same time didn't. He wanted to pummel Seth for kicking off this awkward turn in the conversation in the first place, yet at the same time, wanted to thank him for settling his own curiosity about a matter he'd not even considered until the younger werewolf had asked.

He wanted to know everything about her, yet didn't want to know anything at all, because these instincts he didn't recognize were, well, unsettling.

"Just like us," he said in quiet voice; she noticed Seth's own shrug and nod from the edge of her periphery.

The comment seemed to knock the air from her lungs. "Wait, really?" Maybe that was the source of this sense of connection, then.

"We don't start aging until we stop shifting, and we kind of have to choose to stop," Seth explained, watching the lights dancing in the loose bits of her wild hair. "You've got really pretty hair."

Hermione's eyes widened a little in shock. "Got to say I don't hear that very often, but thank you. I like your hair, too. A bit jealous, actually. I wish mine would behave so well."

She fell silent. She would just bet they didn't have to worry about what their hair looked like when they rolled out of bed in the morning. No, no. Jacob Black probably popped right up from his pillow with that sleek black mane all perfect. Hanging in neat jet ribbons over his shoulders . . . down his back . . . . Moving against his reddish-brown skin in delicate brushes as he—

Sitting up a bit straighter, she gave herself a shake. Bloody hell. Daydreaming with the man sitting right there beside her! What the hell had gotten into her?

He, with suspicious timing, cleared his throat and shook his head. She didn't bother looking over at him, instead going perfectly still in her seat as she wondered what this chat regarding hair had made _him_ think about.

"Um, so then what's the plan?" Jacob asked with a shrug. "Do you want to go there before you meet with the elders and the pack, or after?"

"After, definitely. I mean, I have to run errands, anyway. If I read that brochure correctly, I've a fridge to stock and a coffee maker to fill up."

"You did," Seth called from the backseat, having opened the brochure for reference.

"I feel bad you've got to chauffer me about, though."

Jacob waved away her statement. "Not like I've got anything better to do."

"You don't, um, have—have a girlfriend, or something?" Realizing how it sounded the second the words left her lips, she stumbled on, "By _that_ , I mean it won't cause you any problems to be at some strange woman's beckon call?"

Seth snickered. "Closest thing he's got to a girlfriend is Bella."

Jacob squared his jaw and sighed. "Like you and Harry, she's not my girlfriend, but she is my best friend, or well, was. Bella Swan."

One of Hermione's brows arched very high on her forehead. "Your best friend is named 'Beautiful Graceful-Bird'?"

Jake laughed, Seth made a thoughtful expression.

Jake shook his head. "Never really thought of that, before. Anyway, technically, it's Cullen now. Keep forgetting to do that."

"Suppose I'm not one to talk. I once had a cursed-werewolf friend whose name translated to 'Wolf-boy Wolf.'"

"You're not friends with him anymore?" Jacob braced to hear a story about something her friend must've done to drive her away. The cursed ones didn't have control over themselves, as the elders told it.

"He, um, he died."

"Sorry," both werewolves said in the same breath.

"It's been a while. I just don't like to talk about it. So, back to you and your best friend 'Bella'?"

Jacob nodded, letting her redirect the conversation. "She and I don't hang out much anymore. I don't really have a life outside the pack. It's kind of better that way, anyway."

Her lower lip puffed outward in a pout. She couldn't imagine not spending time with Harry—disregarding that she was about to spend a _lot_ of time separated from him, of course. "It's sad to be without your best friend, though, isn't it? May I ask what happened?"

"She became a vampire."

Her chestnut eyes grew enormous.

Jacob pursed his lips, glaring at Seth in the rear view mirror. "Thanks for that."

The younger wolf threw up his hands. "We're werewolves, she's a witch. It's not breaking anything to talk about vampires."

"Look, it's a whole thing," Jake said in a drained tone. "The elders are going to tell you about the treaty, anyway. My great-grandfather signed an agreement with the leader of the vampire coven in the area—"

"They're seriously called covens?"

He snorted a laugh. "Yeah. But, um, anyway, the agreement was we don't hunt on each other's lands—we've updated it so we can travel in peace on each other's lands and we can hunt 'together' if there's a common enemy—and we co-exist in peace . . . so long as they don't bite anyone. And of course, she goes and falls in love with one of them, and then there's this big group of vampires in Italy, like to believe they're in charge of their kind, who told them she _had_ to be changed or die, so . . . . She was changed."

Her brow furrowed as she sorted that information. That sounded like a headache-inducing amount of drama summed in a relatively compact number of sentences. "If your great-grandfather signed this treaty, but your friend only recently became a vampire, then how did they manage _without_ breaking—?"

"Their leader, Carlisle, is a medical doctor. He proposed a procedure—that she be injected with her husband's venom—"

"Wait, wait. _Venom_? These vampires have venom? Like insects?"

The werewolves nodded.

"Non-magical vampires are strange creatures," she observed in an awed tone.

Jacob shook his head, laughing again. "So, she was _willingly_ injected with the pack standing witness. And then we all just as quickly took off once that was done, because it's an excruciating process and she only agreed on the grounds that her husband, _alone_ , stayed with her to see her through the change."

"Ah." It seemed the only response she could work up. Really, what could _anyone_ say to all of that?

"Anyway, you're going to need someone who knows the area— _and_ has a car—to help you run your errands, right?"

"Right" She nodded, trying not to smile. "And so this is you volunteering for the challenge, that it?"

He grinned, his teeth pearly-white against the rich hue of his skin. "Something like that."

The air from the woods—damp, briny, and yet sort of . . . bright feeling, somehow, though she wasn't at all sure how something could 'feel' bright—had fully invaded the car by now as they made their way along the highway. Hermione closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. The simple act felt both calming and cleansing. As though nothing else in the world mattered in this moment but the air in her lungs.

Whenever she'd gone camping with her parents, hell, even when she'd been on the Horcrux Hunt with Harry and Ron, she'd loved the smell of the woods. The rich earthiness was soothing, and yet, this was somehow a lusher scent, still.

Shaking her head ever so slightly as she rested the back of her skull against the headrest, she whispered, "The air here is simply gorgeous. I love it."

Jacob grinned wider in spite of himself at her hushed observation. There was something about her appreciating the area that warmed him.

* * *

Carlisle found Edward standing on the inside of the glass-paned walls of the foyer. Still as stone, his oldest son watched something on the other side of the glass.

"Something's wrong," Edward said softly, as usual answering the question before it had even left the other vampire's head. "I can't get a lock on his thoughts. Neither can he."

A pensive frown gracing his lips, Carlisle turned his head. Jasper was pacing . . . no, pacing wasn't the correct description of the movement. This was something edgier, more predatory . . . prowling. Yes, Jasper was prowling back and forth across the porch.

"Has he said what's bothering him?"

"All he's said is he doesn't know."

With a sigh, Carlisle clapped a gentle hand over his son's shoulder. "Then perhaps this is one of those times you should _try_ to control your ability. If he doesn't even know what he's thinking, maybe you shouldn't be permitted to attempt figuring it out, either."

Edward uttered a dark laugh—as if Carlisle, of all people, didn't know how hard his ability was to control. If he had any choice about it, he would only read thoughts when it was important, and only from people who didn't make him feel like he needed a shower after picking through their minds.

"I wish it were that simple." He gave a shake of his coppery head. "Jasper's rarely not in control of his own mind. To be honest, it frightens me a little."

With another sigh, Carlisle backpedaled. Leaning his hips back against the panes, he folded his arms across his chest. "Explain it to me."

Shoulders sloping, Edward did just that, describing his brother's bizarre behavior when they'd been reading earlier that afternoon. How he'd not known quite what he'd been thinking then, how he still wasn't sure. Which, by sheer nature of the conversation's trajectory, led to why Edward felt obliged to try to sort Jasper's thoughts _for_ him.

"Sounds nearly like when he's caught the scent of human blood." Carlisle winced as he rethought that. "Minus the surge of violent action to get at the source. You're sure there was nothing he was picking up on that maybe you didn't?"

Edward once more shook his head, dismissing Carlisle's thoughtful observation. "I've been with him nearly the entire day. There's been _nothing_ unusual around. I can't account for why he's like this."

Carlisle frowned again, nodding. He had believed Alice when she said this separation between her and Jasper needed to happen, that Jasper would be all right. And, for the first few days, it seemed she had been correct. So then what was this? It seemed only logical that perhaps he was not handling her absence as well as she'd predicted.

Nodding, Carlisle opened his mouth, but Edward robbed him of the chance to voice his thoughts.

"Yeah, hunting might be good for him. He doesn't seem to be thirsty—at least not enough to cause an issue—but it might distract him."

Carlisle pursed his lips, waiting for Edward to meet his gaze.

"I'm sorry. I'll try to stop doing that."

His adoptive father snickered. Edward really needed to pay more attention to his own actions. Pushing away from the wall of glass, Carlisle exited the house.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick reminder to everyone of what I said a few chapters ago. The imprinting and vampire mate/blood-singer aspects are not going to work the same as they do in canon. It'll all come together and make sense when it does.

**Chapter Five**

It wasn't entirely unlike the last time the elders had told this all to an outsider, on the cliffs, a bonfire roaring, the night sky overheard making the shadows cast by the flames longer, deeper black than usual.

There were a few differences. This girl hadn't been what anyone had expected. Jacob had been correct in the car—her eagerness to show their ways respect had seemed to win over the elders. The pack as well, with the exception of the ever-guarded Leah, but then Hermione'd observed aloud how tough it must be for her, being the lone female of the pack, and how the males must struggle to keep up with her. After such a careful blend of understanding and admiration, even Leah had caved to the witch's deliberate attempts at charm.

Hermione'd asked for a moment to herself, after introductions but before the meeting officially began. All she did with the time granted was step to the edge of the cliff and look out at the foreign skyline. Everyone seemed content to observe this strange creature—they really didn't know anything about European 'good' witches, did they?—as she turned her head, following the water with her gaze. As she closed her eyes and breathed deep of the briny air.

It was a bit of a stark reminder that maybe even they did sometimes take the beauty of their home for granted.

Hermione listened, her attention rapt, to the stories of the Quileute elders. The spirit warriors, the traitorous Utlapa, the bizarre disembodied journey that had led Taha Aki, the last of the Great Spirit Chiefs, to become the Great Wolf . . . . The Cold Ones . . . . The sad, but brave and ultimately necessary sacrifice of the Third Wife . . . .

Though the pack remained silent, as well, it was for a different reason. They'd heard this story enough times to retell it themselves. No. It was because their attention was fixed on Jacob, whose attention was, in turn, fixed on the witch. Whenever there was a lapse in speech, she would turn her head, meeting his eyes quickly before the stories continued.

Seth had been in quite the hurry once they'd arrived to explain what he'd witnessed to the rest of them. That it wasn't an imprint confused them all, especially given that he'd only just met her and yet he watched her with a surety in his gaze that he'd not even shown during the Bella-infatuation fiasco that had gone one for entirely too long, in their collective opinion.

Sam was waiting for them to shift so he could glimpse the moment the way Jacob had experienced it, and perhaps have a better understanding. Perhaps it was an imprint but her magic made it different, somehow?

They were holding back until the elders were done, holding back until after the witch'd had the chance to ask questions if she needed. The way they understood it, their moon-cursed European cousins looked very different from them when shifted, and they thought perhaps throwing dire wolves at her might be a _bit_ of a distraction.

Hermione stared back at Sue Clearwater long after the story had finished—the elders had, quite obviously, but also silently, agreed to let her carry the bulk of the tale, perhaps figuring the young woman would feel more set at ease being addressed by another female, seeing as the testosterone cloud here on the cliffs was a little heavy. She wasn't even sure what she was thinking, perhaps what a complete opposite it was that their wolves were protectors and the ones back home—with rare yet notable exception—were anything but. Perhaps it was the bizarre notion that the spirits only considered their people in need of protecting when 'Cold Ones' were near. Were they never in danger from anything else?

"So," she finally managed, feeling the press of everyone's gazes on her, "if you only change when there are Cold Ones about, that means that the current pack only exists _because_ those vampires Jacob mentioned, the Cullens, are here?"

The one she thought might be named Paul—after getting tossed so many names at once it was difficult to keep track, even for Hermione Granger's brain—uttered a scoffing laugh. "Of course he told you about them already."

Hermione wasn't quite sure what happened next, but she did hear the unmistakable sound of a quick jab impacting flesh. Wincing, though she didn't look back to see what had transpired, she leaned toward Sue and dropped her voice to a whisper, "Is it often like this?"

"Only when their girlfriends aren't here . . . like now. Them being around usually breaks up the 'boys' club' stuff."

Nodding, Hermione offered an understanding smile. There always had been a distinct difference in the mood, perhaps the very air, itself, when Ginny and Luna were present rather than simply Hermione hanging out with Ron and Harry all by her lonesome. What she didn't know was that the elders had made the decision to ask the wolves not to have their imprinted partners present tonight. They'd thought the witch would have enough information to process without also learning about imprinting on her very first night.

Of course, no one had quite accounted for her unusual and immediate connection with Jacob.

Oblivious to the looks passing between the elders and the pack on that point, Hermione winced and spread her hands. "I know this might be awkward, given the circumstances of, well, everything, but if your change is triggered by their presence, then to make the appropriate observations for my research, I need to meet them, too. Any insight this doctor in their . . . their 'coven' might have could be useful."

What she was not oblivious to was the way everyone's collective attention pinned Jacob then.

Chewing at her lower lip, she, too, turned and looked at him. His broad shoulders had slumped, those ruggedly pretty features near blank in what might be an expression of defeat.

She hurried to clarify, the thought of making him uncomfortable twisting her stomach in knots. "I understand if you don't want to go. Um, if you just give me the information, I could get in touch with them myself and—"

"You absolutely will not." The words were out of Jacob's mouth before he even realized he'd spoken.

The way her brows pinched together over her widened eyes bothered him. Deeply. Had he frightened her just now, snapping like that? He couldn't tell, he only knew that she'd suddenly gone very still, even her breathing had slowed.

A mirthless grin curving his lips, he shook his head. "Sorry, I just . . . look, we trust them—to a point—like I said, there's peace but . . . ." He glanced around at his pack, at the elders, before returning his attention to her. "They've never been around anyone like you as far as we know. We don't know how they'd respond to you. You said yourself they're not like the vampires in your world. If you went alone and something happened to you—" He cut himself off, that already unhappy expression giving way to a grim frown.

Hermione reminded herself to breathe, her head flicking up for a brief second with her inhalation. "I understand," she whispered. It was all she could say. Her mind was too busy tripping over the fact he hadn't simply said if 'something happened,' but if 'something happened to _her_.' Such a small thing, but it felt wildly important.

"I'll, um . . . ." Jacob squared his shoulders and sighed. "I'll give them a call and see if we can go over tomorrow, or something."

"I think," Sam broke in, his tone all sorts of warm, even, and big-brothery, "now would be the time to show her our shift."

Unconscious of it, Hermione sucked in a breath. She hadn't been expecting it, but the thought sent a shock of cold through her, drained the feeling from her fingers.

Every. Werewolf. Noticed.

Jacob, who'd just been standing up to join his pack, immediately sat back down. Still they hadn't touched, and he hesitated, lifting his hand to grasp hers before dropping it limping down to rest upon his leg. "You okay? I can stay here with you while they shift, if you want."

They were nothing like Cursed wolves, she reminded herself again. They wouldn't look like Fenrir Greyback, or even Remus had. In fact, she realized, the sudden comprehension sobering, that she'd never been around Fenrir while he was shifted. His torments had been inflicted entirely whilst in his human form.

Forcing a smile, she shook her head. "I'm fine." There was a dreaded question hanging in her mind, though, as to whether or not she'd have to explain the reasons for her fear to him at some point. "Go on. I . . . I want to see. I need to see."

Jacob nodded, eyeing her warily as he climbed to his feet and stepped away from the fire.

The pack didn't go far, stepping back only enough to shroud themselves in the darkness outside the scope of the bonfire's illumination. She turned to face them, the noise of rustling fabric meeting her ears, followed by what sounded like . . . oh, dear . . . like joints and tendons popping and wrenching. That couldn't be pleasant.

She swallowed down another spike of fear as she waited.

The wolf that stepped into the firelight first she somehow knew was Jacob. His fur was the same color as his skin. And he was enormous. Like a prehistoric wolf she'd once seen a rendering of in a museum as a child, she thought.

He held back a bit, but the rest of the pack approached, cautious, curious. She didn't know what to make of it that they sniffed at her, nor as they each seemed to take a turn trying to figure out something.

She was pleased that she felt no overwhelming fear. No desire to run.

She gave a nod, letting them know she'd seen enough—they looked nothing like the lanky, misshapen victims of the lycathropy curse. The Cursed Ones appeared rather like giant, shaggy nightmare coyotes, now that she thought on it. These wolves, however, they were breathtaking. Perfect, even, with their lush coats and visibly healthy bodies.

They all drifted back into the shadows before returning , still pulling their clothes back on. Well, all except Jacob, who had apparently rushed to redress himself while still in the dark and reemerged with a notable blush in his cheeks.

It struck Hermione in that moment that he'd literally been standing yards away from her—a distance that would've been fully visible in daylight— _naked_. Swallowing hard, she lowered her head a moment, hiding a blush of her own.

When she lifted her head, she saw that the pack was still watching her.

Recoiling where she sat, she could only ask, "What?"

"Um, ya know, Hermione? It's late, if you're going to get any shopping down before I drop you at your hotel, we should go. I still have to call the Cullens, anyway."

"Oh, right." Pushing up to stand, she turned to the elders. She thanked each of them, in turn, and then the pack, her expression genuine and grateful. "I will see you all again very soon. I have no words for how honored I feel to be welcomed among you."

They watched as Jacob walked her down from the cliffs, the pair disappearing out of sight into the darkness.

* * *

There was no denying Jasper was unusually focused on the hunt. He normally _was_ attuned to everything about the simple catch-and-kill activity—the woods, the animals scurrying underbrush away from their unnatural presence, the larger game they sought—but this was something new.

Carlisle had never seen Jasper in such deep concentration over a task that had always come easily to him. He watched as his adoptive son darted through the trees, over bramble and dead wood as though he were flying. He was on his prey in a blink, taking down the beast as he gorged on its blood.

When he was finished, he returned to Carlisle's side just as quiet as before. Already, Carlisle could feel the calm rolling off Jasper. Troubling. That was usually a sign he was making an effort to be calm, himself, rather than being in his more naturally serene state.

Seeing the look on his father's face, Jasper sighed. Now the spontaneous hunting trip made sense. "You spoke to Edward." It wasn't a question.

"I did." Carlisle sighed as he turned, Jasper moving with him, to start a leisurely stroll back through the woods. "I was hoping this would clear your head, or at least help you understand better why your head isn't clear. I get the feeling it didn't work."

Jasper shrugged, his hands folded behind his back like a soldier standing at ease. "I suppose it did, a little."

"Do you want to explain it?"

He cast his gaze around at the leaves of the forest canopy as they walked beneath it. "I'm still not entirely sure what it is, but . . . . It's almost like there's a scent in the air I can't quite catch. I know it's there, but I don't know what it is. Yet, there's this sense as though it should feel familiar to me."

"And you have no idea what it could be?"

Jasper shook his head, his lips pressing together in a line.

"I wish I had some bit of wisdom to offer," Carlisle lamented, slinging an arm around the younger vampire's shoulders. "But I'm afraid it doesn't sound like anything I've ever heard of before."

An oddly peaceful smile curving his lips, Jasper whispered, "Maybe this is what it feels like to lose your mind."

Carlisle's features pinched. He didn't like that at all, and especially didn't like Jasper speaking so lightly of it even as he recognized it was an attempt to make _him_ not take it quite so seriously. "Whatever it is, we'll figure it out."

* * *

There was no avoiding the tension in the car without Seth there to ease it. Worse, the strange behavior of the pack toward her right there at the end and Jacob's sudden reluctance to speak only made things worse.

He spoke offhandedly about the shops as they pulled into a carpark. Questioned certain things she bought, as half the recipes she personally enjoyed—and could cook without ruining—were things he'd never heard of. When she, just as offhandedly, suggested he could possibly join her for a meal, he agreed before either of them even realized they'd just made a date.

For a long moment, they'd just stood in the frozen food aisle, gaping at one another. The crash of two shopping carts in another aisle jarred them back to their senses and she immediately returned to looking through the shelves.

Then they were back in the car, the strain between them making her squirm in her seat a bit.

When they at last reached her resort and she was checked in, Jacob stood before the porch steps of her cabin—suite 6, on the end, to be precise—letting out the same low whistle he and Seth had shared earlier in the car.

She snickered, playfully elbowing past him as she made her way up to the door with an armful of her groceries, leaving him to take the rest. "C'mon, now. Let's get inside before you _really_ tell me what you think of the place."

By the time he managed to unstick his feet from the ground and follow her inside—up across the porch, through the living room area to the attached kitchen—she'd already put away everything from the bag she'd taken and was setting the coffeemaker.

"Isn't it late for coffee?" he asked, almost unaware how natural it was as he set down the bags he carried and began handing her items to put wherever she needed.

"I mean to stay up and make notes of everything I learned today."

He paused in the midst of handing over a pint of raspberry sorbet. "You remember it all?"

"Yes," she said simply. "I don't have an eidetic memory, but I do have a very _good_ memory."

Too soon, it seemed, she put away the last thing—canned pasta in the cupboard. And she turned to face him. "Now are you going to tell me what that was all about back there with the pack?"

"You're not going to give up on making me tell you if I just say 'no' now, are you?"

She smirked and walked past him. Back through the living room area and across the threshold of the bedroom. She already knew he was hesitating, that it didn't occur to him that their destination was wholly innocent.

And she was ignoring that being aware of the direction of his thoughts set off a little spark of tingling warmth low in her body.

"I'm just going to unpack, you know."

"Oh." Curious in spite of himself, he followed her. He had wanted to see this magic of hers firsthand.

She had opened the drawers of the bureau and then the small bag she'd had with her the entire time. He watched, fascinated, as she sprinkled miniature items into each drawer and then waved a wand—a legit wand, like something from a tv show or a movie—over the tiny bundles. Just like that, he was suddenly staring at neatly folded pants, shirts, a drawer full that seemed destined for all non-clothing items, and then—he immediately darted his attention away at the sight of satin and frilly lace.

No need to give his imagination more fuel than it already had.

Selecting a notebook and pen from her non-clothing drawer, she snapped them all closed at once with another wave of her wand.

"Impressed yet?" she asked, a smile in her voice.

Forcing his gaze to meet hers, he couldn't censor himself, the thought spilling from his lips, "What makes you think I wasn't already?"

The mirthful light in her eyes dimmed a little, making for a more serious look before she backpedaled from the bureau. Rounding him, she went back into the living room, having a feeling her bedroom might not be the best place for this, or well, any conversation with Jacob Black.

Yet, as they returned to the living room, just as she sat down, she spotted the fireplace. "Oh, dear Lord! I completely forgot I said I'd contact Harry and let him know I arrived safely!"

Jacob looked around before pointing to the phone, only to turn back and see the witch lighting the flames in the hearth.

"Um . . . ."

She knelt down, waving her wand at the fire and muttering something. Nearly as soon as she was finished, a face appeared in the flames.

"Hermione! Where have you been?!" a voice echoed off the stones. Clearly he'd been waiting for her communication by Floo.

Jacob's brows shot up. Unable to believe his eyes, he crept closer to the image.

"I'm so sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to worry you! Everything happened so fast once I got off the plane, but I'm at the resort, safe, about to settle in for the night."

The image's eyes, darted over her head, fixing on Jacob from behind a pair of wire-rim glasses. "That so?"

A nervous giggle burst out of her as she glanced back to see Jacob's sad attempt to force a smile at this visage in the flames. "Hermione," he managed to murmur from the side of his mouth, "what exactly is happening?"

"Sorry, it's a method of magical communication. I should've warned you. Harry Potter, this is Jacob Black. Jacob Black, Harry Potter."

"Oh," Harry said, dragging out the sound. "Billy Black's son, right. Make 'em large there, don't they?"

Her attention immediately went back to her friend's face. "Actually, yes. It might be a thing with their kind. I met with the pack—and the elders, they were all so wonderful—and these werewolves are _all_ enormous fellows. Wait . . . except Leah. The one female, she's not overly tall, but _very_ impressively built."

"So," Harry said after it was safely determined Hermione was finished talking, "brought one of the werewolves home to help with your research, then?"

Jacob balked at the not at all subtle implication while she shook her head, laughing—she knew she recognized that concerned-brother tone Harry was using. "Stop that. He was simply about to explain a few things I didn't get to discuss with the pack and then he'll be on his way."

Seeming satisfied with that explanation—and after making a schedule with Hermione to check in for safety reasons—Harry bid her, and Jacob, goodnight.

"That, um, yeah, that was something."

Hermione snickered as she stood and came to the sofa. Taking a seat, she didn't even wait for him to follow suit before she asked, "What was going on with how the pack looked at me after you shifted?"

He caught the back of the couch, stopping himself from sinking into the cushion. "You know? That coffee might be good right about now."

Sighing harshly through her nostrils, she stood. "You're not getting out of this, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," he answered, his tone heavy with the sort of resignation typically born of familiarity.

Moments later, each settled at the kitchen table with mugs in hand, he started. "Everyone felt it was best to introduce you to . . . werewolf life, I guess, a little at a time. Tonight was our legends and seeing us shifted. The next visit was going to be watching the shift in process, and explaining our life spans, and probably explaining imprinting, too."

"Okay," she said the word slow and lifted her mug for a sip, her gaze never leaving his.

He took a sip as well, not really sure how to do this, except simply to start. It had been easy with Bella because as much as he'd felt for her at the time, he knew he was not imprinted on her. With Hermione? He didn't have clue what was happening.

"Imprinting is kind of like . . . it's like finding your soul mate, and being aware, right then, that that's what they are to you." He was cognizant of the way her posture stiffened. "It's something we don't have any control over. Um, I saw it, through the eyes of my brothers when they imprinted. Felt what it was like for them. There's no way to describe it that could really make someone else understand it the way we do. We—"

"Hang on, sorry. What d'you mean you saw it through their eyes?"

His expression was a sort of wincing smile as he shook his head. "When we're shifted, we're all sort of linked, like, in our minds. We can't shield our thoughts from each other."

"Sounds kind of terrible."

"It's helpful when you're hunting something or in combat."

"Or when you need to show someone something you can't quite explain?"

Jacob nodded. "Anyway . . . . It's like imagine you meet someone and the first moment you look in their eyes, suddenly they're your whole heart. There's nothing you wouldn't do for them and you know deep down, you'd die before you let something happen to them, because if you lose them . . . . If you lose them, literally nothing else will ever matter to you again."

He almost thought he could feel the way her breath trembled out of her then.

"Sounds kind of terrible," she said again, her voice soft, thoughtful. "Why does it happen?"

"No one's really sure. Sam thinks it _is_ like a soul mate, like it's this person who's meant to be with you and understand you, but my dad thinks the point of an imprint is to make you stronger."

She lifted her coffee for another sip, watching him, still, as she waited for him to go on.

This time, he tore his gaze from hers, instead looking to the movement of his own fingertips as he traced the lip of his mug. "When I first saw you at the airport, I felt . . . something inexplicable. A connection, I think, but it—"

"So it wasn't just me?" she asked, still whispering.

He snapped his head up to meet her eyes, again. "Wait. You felt it, too?"

"I think so . . . I've been . . . all night it's just . . . ." Hermione uttered a relieved laugh. "I thought I might be going a little bit mad."

"See? That's the thing! Imprints aren't a two-way street like that. I mean, its rare for someone to reject the person who's imprinted on them, but it's more like 'how do you say no to someone who will be everything you ever need?' sort o' thing." He shrugged. "When we all shifted and the pack saw those feelings, when they felt that connection, they didn't know what to make of it, either."

"Maybe imprints work differently with other supernatural beings?"

Jacob arched a brow. "That's a thought, actually."

An awkward silence stretched between them as he processed that possibility.

"Um," he finally said after too long of both of them trying to ignore the sudden spike in tension, "is it okay if I use the phone over there to call the Cullens? I mean, I could always just swing by and talk to them in person before heading home, but . . . I kinda don't want to just show up unannounced."

She offered a small smile and nodded. Her mug held between both hands, she stared down into the dark liquid as he got up and crossed to the living room area.

Somewhat dully she could hear the conversation that followed. Apparently someone named Edward picked up the line, which was followed by a taunting over distance which she did not understand. But Jacob insisted on speaking to the head of the coven—the doctor, Carlisle. After a brief explanation of the reason behind his call, there was a time set for late tomorrow morning.

Hermione had no idea why she was so listless until he returned to the kitchen table. He didn't reclaim his seat, instead, bringing his mug to the sink and rinsing it out. "It's getting pretty late. I should get home."

"Uh huh," was all that came out of her.

Setting the mug down, he turned to look at her. "Hermione? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. No, n—nothing. It's stupid. It's mad, actually."

The tremor in her voice ripped at his heart. Kneeling beside her, he peered up into her face. "Hey, what is it?"

"I don't know, really, just . . . ." She chewed at her lower lip a moment as she weighed her words. "If this _isn't_ an imprint, then that means the one whom you are meant to imprint upon is still out there. Which would mean that even if this connection we have means anything, then one day, suddenly, it _won't_. It just . . . I don't know, but it hurt to think that. And isn't that just madness on the face of it?"

"Maybe?" he said, his voice uncertain as he shook his head, a smile that was equally uncertain tugging at the corners of his mouth. "But hearing it like that—" He broke off, inhaling deep and casting his eyes upward before he could continue. "It hurts me, too. And I have no idea what that means."

She hadn't turned toward him, wouldn't even look at him just now, her focus still trained on her coffee mug. "This is just . . . I've known you less than half a bloody day! I should not be feeling like . . . ." She let out a shuddering breath.

"Like what?"

Then, she did look at him. Meeting his gaze, she wanted to tell him so very badly that she felt like she might go a little bit mad if she didn't feel the press of his skin against hers soon.

But . . . they _had_ known one another less than half a day. She was afraid to put herself in so vulnerable position. What did it matter that he felt the same things if it might only be ripped away by some mystical bond to another person he was _meant_ to be with?

"Perhaps this is a discussion best not held when we're both tired and, well, alone."

He wanted to tell her to say it anyway. Wanted to say fuck common sense and exhaustion . . . but looking up at her like this, some concern she couldn't or wouldn't share with him in her eyes, he understood maybe it _was_ best not to do this now. They had all summer, no point jumping into anything.

She scooted back her chair and stood. "I'll walk you out."

He stood, towering over her, and chuckled. "The door is literally right there," he said, pointing across the space.

"I know, but it's common courtesy."

His dark eyes narrowed. "You're always going to insist on stuff like this, aren't you?"

"Very probably, yes."

Jacob gave in, letting her walk beside him to the door. She stood there, at the threshold, watching as he lumbered across the porch and down the steps.

Later, alone in her bed, after taking her notes and indulging in a nice, hot bath, she wondered—and wondered, and wondered some more—if she should have told him.

If she should've asked him to stay.

If the night might've ended very differently if she'd touched him, just once.

* * *

Well, that was the shittiest night's sleep he'd had in a long time. Jacob swallowed a yawn as he pulled up in front of her cabin.

She looked far better rested than he felt, sitting on her porch with another mug in hand. Her eyes were closed and her head tipped back against her chair.

He thought she might be sleeping for how peaceful she looked, until she lifted her free hand, gesturing for him to give her a minute. Which turned into five, apparently, as she finished her coffee, ran the mug back into the cabin, and—with notebook and pen clutched to her abdomen, this time—finally climbed into the passenger seat.

On the drive, he described the various family members so that Hermione could brace herself. The unavoidable cold of shaking their hands, the poking about in her brain that one named Edward might be unable to stop himself from engaging in, the annoyingly captivating beauty of an exceptionally angry creature named Rosalie. There was Bella, of course with some sort of defensive power Hermione might not have any reason to ever see in-use. Some massive bloke named Emmett, who was apparently a bit of a cuddly bear in human form, Carlisle and his too-nice-to-everyone wife, Esme. He rounded it off with Alice, the 'tiny fortune teller', and finally Jasper.

He considered Jasper sort of a special case. The only one _all_ the pack grudgingly respected aside from Carlisle—many of them played favorites, only able to tolerate a particular one or two of them at any given time unless they were hunting together— as they perceived him as the biggest threat amongst the Olympic coven. Emmett might be strongest, Edward might be fastest, but Jasper was second to each of them in those regards, and neither possessed his militaristic mindset. Wholly at odds with his typical demeanor—the polite, quiet Southern gentleman—he was perhaps the fiercest hunter in the family.

She wasn't particularly concerned about the mind reader as she'd mastered Occlumency years ago, but the emotion control thing sounded interesting. How helpful and curious would it be to carry out what should be an enraging argument as a calm debate, instead?

"That's a lot to remember," she said in a small voice, nodding. "And they're all pretty?"

"Yeah." Jacob's mouth curled in a sneer. "It's kind of grossly irritating."

As they pulled up in front of the house, she imitated Jacob's whistle of appreciation from the day before. The place was lovely, by entirely modern standards, of course. The werewolf ran around to the passenger side to get the door for her.

Stepping from the car, she stared up at the massive white-and-glass edifice. "Huh. I don't think I expected vampires to live in anything so—"

"Bright and sunny?" Jacob asked while they started walking toward the short, wide front steps.

"I was going to say 'contemporary', but that works, too, actually."

He shrugged. "Turns out they actually like the sun, but there's . . . you'll see, there's a reason they don't like to be seen in direct sunlight. Oh, and they never sleep."

Hermione stumbled as she crossed the porch. "Never?"

Jacob shook his head.

The bridge of her nose crinkled. The very thought—at first it might seem appealing to have so much time to do whatever one wanted, study as long as one wanted. But after a while, didn't time get sort of monotonous?

"A life without dreams seems miserable to me."

He felt as if everything in him stopped for a split second as her words sank in. He hadn't even considered it that way, but yes. It sounded excruciating now that he thought on it.

Sooner than he could ring the bell, the door flew open. A beautiful girl with long red-brown hair and snowy white skin erupted from the house, flinging herself on Jacob.

"Jake," she nearly shrieked. "It's so good to see you!"

He caught her easily, swinging her about before setting her on her feet. Hermione was surprised she didn't feel an immediate stab of jealousy, but she knew from personal experience that this must be Bella, as it was not much different from her greetings with Harry after a long time apart. Well, with the glaring exception that Harry wasn't much taller than Hermione and wasn't exactly sturdy, so more often than not, her flinging herself at him ended with both of them toppled on the floor.

"Bella Swan, this is Hermione Granger. Hermione, Bella."

"Hi! Um, I'm . . . I'm sorry, I've never met a 'real' witch before, I'm not sure what to say."

Hermione glanced at Jacob before returning her attention to Bella. Her hair was so perfect, it held Hermione's gaze with little effort. "Well, 'hi' is a perfectly fine start."

Bella winced, nodding. "I guess I'm making this weird. Come in, everyone's expecting you."

Hermione didn't follow until she felt Jacob's hand on her back—she could feel how he was crowded protectively beside her. The sensation nearly distracted her, and she knew it would have for certain, if not for her shirt blocking any actual skin contact. She was ushered inside through a sunlit foyer and into a stylishly wide-open living room space.

Jacob was making introductions, she could _sense_ the timbre of his voice beating against her pulse. She recognized the names he'd already told her, heard something about the little one, Alice, not being here, but as she faced them, she found her thoughts fleeing her.

Their eyes . . . they weren't all exactly the same, and yet they were. Varied depths of gold, amber, ocher. She'd seen eyes like these only once before.

The air locked in her chest. In a flash, she saw the face of Fenrir Greyback, heard his deep, rasping breath in her ear, felt the scrape of his teeth against her throat. The vicious stab of his clawed fingers in the back of her neck.

She dropped her gaze to the floor, her eyes filling with immediate tears, hot and angry, as she forced herself to breathe. Her fingers flexed as she fought the instant desire to draw her wand and strike out at those eyes.

She could hear Jacob speaking her name in a concerned whisper—she was a witch, meeting some 'tame' Muggle vampires was supposed to be nothing.

Her lips trembled and her voice came out shaky. "I'm sorry, I just . . . ." There was a sense of calm attempting to steal through her then, trying to muffle her fear and agitation. Rather than welcoming it, she forced the soothing impression away. Hermione was certain she heard a soft, low sound of surprise from one of them as she backpedaled a step.

"I need some air, if . . . if you'll all excuse me." She was back out the door without a single glance in their direction.

Jasper knew everyone was turning to look at him as Jacob followed the witch back outside. They were aware he'd used his gift, they were all calm due to it. She wasn't immune, no; he recognized that the witch had _deliberately_ pushed his ability aside.

He only shook his head in response to their unasked questions, managing quietly, "I don't understand what just happened." All he did know, and a troubling realization it was, was that whatever had been wrong with him since yesterday had seemed to evaporate entirely the moment she set foot in front of him.

In the face of Jasper's not at all subtle confusion, the family turned their collective attention to Edward for answers.

Frowning thoughtfully, he shrugged. "I don't know, either. I couldn't read her."

Bella's eyes widened. "I thought I was the only person your gift didn't work on."

He met her gaze, frown deepening. "This is different. I can't hear you at all, like a blank spot. With that girl, it was more like trying to listen to a whispered conversation—you can hear someone speaking, but you can't quite catch what they're saying." He shook his head, just as his brother had. "It was as if she was actively stopping me from hearing her, not like your gift at all."

Carlisle broke into his children's discussion before anyone could get uncomfortable or irrational about the unexpected way this introduction had gone. "I've heard about this, I simply never believed I'd encounter it. Witches of her kind have a way—a discipline—that teaches them to protect their thoughts. It's usually to shield themselves from others of their own kind, because there is another discipline which permits the user to look into their target's mind."

"But you said there aren't any of her kind around here," Rosalie pointed out, dubious about the entire situation, but then there wasn't much she trusted.

Carlisle nodded, shrugging. "There aren't. Closest of her kind are a small handful in Port Angeles, but . . . ." He paused, unsure if this was information he even had a right to share with them. Their lives were so far removed from that girl's world that the tragic events in Wizarding Britain, as they called it, one decade ago never even registered on their radar. If not for his contact with other vampires still in Europe, he'd never have known, either.

Letting out a sigh, he nodded. "There was a war among her people about ten years ago. I can only guess that anyone who lived through it learned to be on guard at all times."

A thoughtful, silent moment passed in the room as they considered his answer. They'd caused bloodshed, they'd been in battles. They knew what it was to have trouble letting go of instincts built from such harsh foundations.

Jasper's eyes returned to the door. "And her emotions?" He couldn't be sure what it was, but he felt certain if his heart still beat, it would've stopped at the way she looked around at them.

If his lungs still worked, they'd have halted at the fear he felt rippling from her.

Regardless of ifs and stills, he knew there was something in the back of his mind he couldn't quite make sense of. Something dark and lurking that had awakened with her departure.

"That, I have no idea." Again Carlisle shrugged. He didn't particularly like it when he didn't have answers to offer them. "She may simply have a strong self-awareness, or it maybe something to do with what she is. I'll caution you all." He gave Bella a meaningful look—she was known for rash decisions, after all, and being turned had not tempered that aspect of her personality much. " _All._ She's a witch and none of us really know what one is capable of. She's not here as an enemy, so let's not try to find out."

Bella frowned, finding the collective weight of her family's attention on her. She knew they ultimately trusted her, but the added reminder for restraint that was targeted at her was irritating. "I understand."

Their collective weight, with the exception of Jasper and Edward.

Jasper's attention was still on the door, and Edward's was on his adoptive brother. Whatever was happening in the blond vampire's head, it was because of her.

But how . . . ? Her blood didn't sing to Jasper, as it were, that was a distinct impression Edward would recognize from his own experience. It also was not quite like Rosalie's thoughts when she'd found Emmett, nor Carlyle's thoughts when he'd found Esme.

Holding in a sigh, he turned his head, following his Jasper's gaze. Once again, he had no idea what Jasper was actually feeling.

But, as had happened with his own experience, it seemed Jacob Black was—once again—going to prove an obstacle. At least if the incredibly witch-centric thoughts filling the werewolf's head were anything to go by.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to this fic! I've missed you guys 😊
> 
> So, a few of you were surprised in the last chapter when Bella was so happy to see Jacob. Now, I'm aware that some of you view it as 'she's a bitch, why is she being nice?' BUT here's the thing I noticed about their interactions in canon. When Bella and Jacob have been apart for a while, their initial reaction to seeing each other again is very 'omg I missed you!' even if their last prior interaction had been an argument. For those first few minutes of being together again, that would be forgotten and they'd just be happy to see one another.

Jacob all but tumbled out the front door after her. He didn't immediately see where she could've gone, his attention snagging on her notebook and pen that she'd dropped on the porch as she went.

Snatching them up, he bolted down the steps and to his car, thinking maybe whatever had upset her made her want to leave. Yet, as he neared it, he could see through the windshield that the vehicle was empty.

Dark eyes narrowing in thought, he deposited the pen and notebook on the hood of the car and then held himself still. He couldn't pick up her scent, not with the sickly-sweet tinge of vampire so heavy in the air here, so instead he listened.

Animals in the distance—they wisely, instinctively, gave the houseful of supernatural predators a wide berth. Breezes rustling through leafy tree branches. And then bipedal footfalls through dense grass. He followed the sound.

* * *

The rest of the family drifted back into the recesses of the house, apparently content to let Jacob handle whatever the hell had just happened. Especially since none of them actually _knew_ what had just happened.

Well, the family short three members. They lingered in the living room

Bella looked from Edward to Jasper and back. She didn't want to interrupt whatever silent exchange was taking place—mostly because she had gotten sick of catching flack for asking questions she had no right to expect answers to—but she knew something had just happened.

Edward turned a quizzical expression on the door beyond the foyer. Not that _that_ was unusual, his insight often caused him to make faces he wasn't even aware he was pulling while he tried to puzzle through, or push aside, the things other's thoughts told him. It was the way Jasper trained his gaze on his adoptive brother's face as he mouthed the words _Edward, no_ that got her attention.

"What's going on?"

Edward didn't answer. Jasper frowned, dropping his gaze to the floor.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, the copper-haired vampire's expression changed. His brows shot up in something like understanding and he started through the living room and across the foyer to the door.

Jasper felt his shoulders droop. A girl who couldn't stand to be in the same room with their kind could hardly be the answer to whatever was wrong with him no matter how much it felt that way.

Edward's departure left him standing there with Bella. He was normally very fond of his new sister-in-law, despite his prickliness toward her the last few days, but he couldn't deal with her silent inquiry right now.

Against his own better judgment, he followed after Edward. He was all too aware of Bella trailing reluctantly behind him, the faint sting of mild irritation trickling from her with each step.

* * *

Jacob found her behind the stand of immense cedars. Even before he rounded the trees, he could hear her deep, carefully controlled breaths. How she'd gotten so far so fast, he had no idea—could she move in a blink by magic?

Hermione's eyes focused blankly ahead of her as she pivoted on her heel and looped back from another round of pacing. Her head moved in a series of slow nods as if in some deep conversation with herself and she drummed her fingertips in a static rhythm against the pads of her thumbs—forefinger to pinky, and back again.

Jacob stopped where he was, uncertain how to approach her or even how to respond to this behavior. His brows inched upward, features otherwise going slack as he simply watched her.

Hermione was aware of him. His silent presence was soothing, calming, but, for some reason, it didn't help her back from the edge, and so she couldn't stop trying to coax herself back.

After a moment, she managed to reel in her spiraling anxiety. Yet with that, her breathing sped up for a few heartbeats of its own accord and she had to give herself a shake as she turned to face him.

He was surprised that it hurt—actually pained his heart—that she wouldn't meet his eyes as she opened her mouth to speak.

"I . . . I want to tell you why that just happened back there, but I . . . ." She clasped her hands before her to keep from fidgeting with her fingers again as she spoke. "The thoughts are there, but when I try to form the words . . . ." Wincing, she shook her head, exhaling sharply through clenched teeth before continuing. "It's somehow worse when I try to say any of it aloud. Like the entire thing gets caught in my throat and I have to struggle to breathe, and—"

"Hey, hey." Jacob held up his hands and took a step toward her. Under any other circumstances, it would be funny to him that he should be so determined to appear non-threatening when here he was, a werewolf who stood over a foot taller than her in his human form, but she seemed like she felt _very_ threatened just moments ago back in the house, so he was willing to do whatever he could to devest himself of his natural intimidation factor.

"If you can't talk about it, that's okay," he said slowly, cognizant of her going very still—like she had when he'd unintentionally snapped at her last night. Something had happened, not now, not even recently, he'd bet, that had shaken this woman to her core. He honestly had no idea how to help her with whatever she was feeling. "You don't have to tell me anything."

The sympathetic pitch of his voice was _so_ soothing to her. Hermione let her eyes drift closed and focused on her breathing. Her lips folding inward to form a thin line, she took a step closer of her own.

Opening her eyes, the witch shook her head. "No, no. I . . . see, that's the thing. With this connection between us, I _want_ to tell you. I want you to understand. I didn't expect to react the way I did back there."

He glanced back in the direction of the house, blocked from view at present by the cedars. Oh, normally he'd love an excuse to blame vampires for just about anything—flaw of his species, he supposed—but he'd _been_ there. They'd not had the opportunity to do or say _anything_ , let alone doing or saying something that could be considered upsetting by any stretch of the imagination.

According to her own words, she'd never even met a vampire before, so . . . . "What were you reacting _to_?"

Jacob stilled sooner than she was able to form an answer, but he could tell she noticed his sudden change in demeanor, once again going very still, herself, in return. She couldn't possibly hear what he just had.

His eyes squeezing shut, he exhaled a short, gruff breath through his nostrils. "You couldn't have just let me handle this? _You're_ the reason she's upset."

A voice came from the other side of the cedars. "No, we're not. At least, not in the way you're thinking." Hermione could hear their footfalls now, but she had the strangest impression that it was deliberate. It was just as deliberate when they noisily drew to a halt.

Jacob's expression turned fierce as he pivoted, glaring at the cedars as though he could see through them to the vampire standing on the other side. "Found that out poking around in her head?"

Hermione's brows shot up.

"No, it's not like that." The vampire—Hermione guessed it was Edward from Jacob's comment—sighed. "This is ridiculous. Do we have to talk like this?"

"That's up to her."

"It's . . . it's actually easier this way," she admitted, her voice small.

"She's scared," another voice said, soft, only audible because of the silence that followed Hermione's statement.

She sucked in a breath at that second voice. The sound immediately snagged Jacob's attention and he turned his head to look at her.

Hermione couldn't understand herself. She'd never heard this voice before, yet it felt familiar. Expected, perhaps, as if she'd been waiting to hear it, somehow.

Sensing Jacob's eyes on her, she could only shake her head.

"I was thinking," Edward's voice went on, "if you really want Jacob to know whatever it is, I could help." He had misgivings about helping bolster the connection between the wolf and the witch, but it was the right thing to do here, even if he didn't like.

Besides, if he were being fair—which was a matter of debate, given his gift allowing him such an impossible advantage—whatever was going on between her and Jacob had been happening first. From the moment they'd met according to the werewolf's thoughts. Maybe it wasn't so much like before, after all. Whatever was troubling his brother, perhaps Jasper was the intruder here.

"You . . . you can't read my thoughts, can you?"

"No." The answer was quick, unguarded.

"Lucky," Jacob and Jasper muttered the word in the same breath. Hermione would've snickered if it wasn't strangely startling to hear their voices mingle.

"You'd have to let me in, I think." That was if he'd understood everything Carlyle had explained about how witches minds worked. "I won't intrude or try to force it, but if you really want him to know, we could try."

A corner of her mind was working on something else entirely as she considered the vampire's offer. "Um, sorry, this is slightly off topic, but you can't control your ability, can you?"

There was a pause. Hermione could swear Edward Cullen swallowed hard.

"No."

"I could possibly help with that, you know. I started thinking about it in regard to Jacob's pack, actually, but it might work for you as well."

"What are you talking about?"

She met Jacob's eyes in a fleeting glance. "I can't make any promises, but it occurred to me how . . . intrusive their communication while shifted can be. I had considered creating a charm that would permit their thoughts through when deemed necessary or useful, but otherwise they'd be able to keep private anything they didn't want to share. I might be able use the same concept for you, so that you can decide when to let other's thoughts into your head."

Edward could only stare at the cedars, his topaz eyes wide. It had never occurred to him that the possibility of such a thing existed. He turned to look at Bella over his shoulder. She knew how difficult it was for him, his own thoughts always crowded by those of the people around him.

She merely watched him, a small, hopeful smile curving her lips.

Chewing at his lower lip, he dropped his gaze to the ground at his feet. "Why would you do that?"

"Why not?"

It sounded so easy for her. So simple to just offer something so important to a complete stranger. Edward could hear his brother clearly in that moment, despite how Jasper tried to muffle his thoughts. The blond vampire was in a sort of awe at her effortless—indeed thoughtless—compassion.

"Sorry," she said to the collective, tree line-separated, group. "Sometimes I process complex matters in the background to help me focus. But I suppose . . .yes, I could let you in a little. I am aware others are there with you. I haven't told _anyone_ what you're going to learn from me, but I think perhaps its best if the lot of you know, not just Jacob. If I'm going be around your—your coven, I might have a difficult time and I think it only fair you all understand it's not anything you've done."

"You're sure?" This time it was Edward and Jacob who spoke in the same breath.

Hermione bit her lip on a smile even as she heard Bella snicker. The other one was quiet and she tried to not read anything into his silence.

"Yes."

"All right." Edward nodded, shrugging as he focused his attention on her. "Well, whenever you're ready."

The witch imagined the barrier around her thoughts like a wall. Circular, impossibly high, perfectly arrayed lines of brick and mortar. Sifting about behind that wall, she dislodged the memory of those terrifying minutes she'd been at Greyback's mercy. Steeling herself against the feelings that accompanied it, she let them slip past the wall.

"Oh," Edward said after a delayed moment, his voice subdued.

Immediately—childishly, she knew—Hermione clamped her hands over her ears. She didn't want to hear the words spoken. She wasn't sure she'd have an adverse reaction to it, but she didn't trust herself not to, either.

"During the war among her people, she was . . . she was tortured—" Edward paused, again swallowing hard. "It's not quite the right word, terrorized might be better, but it's still not right. Not—not _enough_. The creature held her captive for only a short time, separated from her friends so no one knew, but . . . during that short time, he tried to choke the life from her again and again, not even to kill her, just because he _could._ She never told anyone because it made her feel weak that she couldn't fight back. _And_ because to speak the words was to relive it. There are two scars she carries that are constant reminders of that day. Claw marks on the back of her neck—" he was oblivious to how Jacob's head snapped to one side, his horrified gaze locking on the witch's voluminous hair where it hid her neck and shoulders—"and the memory of his eyes. Eyes that look like _ours_."

He let out a breathy, mirthless laugh. "She was worried she'd end up being scared of you, but it ended up being one look at us that terrified her and brought her back to that moment."

He could hear the turn of Jasper's thoughts, how he felt sick thinking of what she'd been through. He could hear Jacob's question in his mind, wondering why being afraid of _him_ was even a consideration.

It was no use. Hermione heard every word. Her breath seemed to leave her and her hands slipped down from her ears to dangle at her sides.

In a bit of sad, bizarre timing, Hermione turned her head to meet Jacob's worried eyes just as Edward answered him.

"Because the creature who did that to her . . . he was a werewolf."

Jake felt like the words like a physical blow as he watched her eyes well up with tears.


End file.
